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FROM   THE   LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,   D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM    TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 


Division       "SCC 
Section         ^£^3 


/ 

ECHOES 


OF    THE 


ORIGINAL    POEMS. 


BY    REV.    EDWARD    C.    JONES,  A.M. 


"  The  sounding  Lyre — how  Hope  and  Joy 
Attend  its  gushing  strain. 
A  rapture  blest,  which  may  not  yield 
To  want,  or  wo,  or  pain." 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PRINTED    BY    KING    &    BAIRD, 
Xo.  9  Sajtsom  Street. 

1850. 


FRANCIS    WEST,    M.  D., 


THESE  UNPRETENDING   LYRICS, 


OF  ONE  WHOSE  HARP  HAS  EVER  PROVED  THE  SOLACE  OP  HIS  GRIEF, 


ARE  MOST  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED, 


A3    A     TOKEN    OF    ESTEEM 


FOR  HIS  PRIVATE  VIRTUES  AND  OFFICIAL  WORTH. 


•WORDS  SOMETIMES  WEAKEN  WHAT  THE  HEART  WOULD  SAT  : 
THE  THOUGHT  ACCEPT,  AND  CAST  THE  PHRASE  AWAY." 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/echoesheartOOjone 


CONTENTS 


Winfred ;  or,  the  Student  of  Scripture     -            -            -            -  9 

The  Future  Church     ------  13 

My  Father  is  Immortal    -            -            -            -            -            -  15 

A  Hymn  to  Christ,  as  God     -----  17 

Monica,  the  Mother  of  Augustine             -            -            -            -  20 

Polyearp  at  Prayer     ------  22 

A  Bishop's  Dying  Hymn  -  -  -  -  -25 

The  Two  Dwellings    ------  27 

The  Vigil               - 29 

Faith  in  God  -------  32 

The  Watcher's  Hymn       ------  34 

"Be  Pitiful" 37 

Pro  Ecclesia          -------  39 

The  Death  of  Moses   ------  41 

But  Yesterday  we  Sprang  to  Birth           -            -            -            -  44 

The  Church  not  Xew               _____  46 

The  Bell  of  the  Floating  Chapel  49 

Saint  Martin,  Bishop  of  Tours            -  51 

The  Christian  Hero           ------  55 

Christian  Peace           __-_-_  58 

Oh,  Speak  to  thy  Brother             -            -            ...  60 

The  Weeping  Church  :  a  Lenten  Measure     -  62 

"  In  te,  Domine,  Speravi "            -             -            -             -             -  64 

The  Little  Cloud         ------  67 

The  Sweet  Call 69 

Fall  of  Jerusalem        ------  71 

Oh,  Lord,  the  Waters  Saw  Thee  -----  73 

The  Council  of  the  Church     -----  75 

Calvary  Church — Monument  to  Bishop  "White     -            -            -  78 

The  Greeks  at  the  Feast         -  81 

Faint,  yet  Pursuing           ------  84 

Contrition       -------  87 


VI  CONTENTS. 

The  Floating  Chapel         -  '         -  -  -  -  -       89 

David's  Lament  ------  91 

The  Hour  of  Prayer  ......        93 

The  Song  of  the  Autumn  Wind  ....  95 

Prayer  for  the  Blind         -  -  -  -  -  -        98 

Christian  Sympathy   ------  100 

"The  Lord  will  comfort  Zion"     -  -  -  -  -  102 

Jacob's  Wish  -------  104 

Messiah's  Progress  ------  109 

Childhood's  Lay  ------  111 

Claims  of  Heathendom    ------  113 

Moral  Night    -------  115 

Early  Piety  -------  117 

Bethlehem's  Star        ------  119 

Words  of  Favor    -------  121 

Send  out  Thy  Light  ------  123 

Hour  of  Parting,  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  125 

The  Budding  Flower  -  -  -  -  -  127 

The  Sun  of  Righteousness  -  129 

The  Sabbath  Hour      ------  131 

Devotion  --------  133 

A  Grateful  Tribute     -  -  -  -  -  -  135 

The  Accepted  Hour  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  137 

A  Day  of  Prayer         ------  139 

The  Saviour's  Care  ------  141 

Precious  Moments       ------  143 

How  Brief  is  Life  ___.--  145 

Spring-Time   -------  147 

The  Bright  Commission   ------  148 

Wisdom's  Voice  ------  150 

The  Swelling  Chorus        -  -  -  -  -  -      152 

The  Funeral   -------  154 

The  Birthday  of  Washington        -  -  -  -  -      156 

The  Sister's  Gift         ------  158 

The  Poor  - 160 

Belief  for  Ireland        ------  161 

The  Fireside  -------      162 

The  Nativity  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  164 

The  People's  Press  ------      165 

The  Fall  of  Hungary  -----  167 


POETRY, 


FOUNDED  ON  SCRIPTURE,  AND  INCIDENTS  IN  CHURCH 
HISTORY. 


WINFRED; 


THE     STUDENT    OF     SCRIPTURE. 

A  CHURCH  BALLAD. 

"I  pray  you  to  send  me  the  Booh  of  the  Prophets,  which  the  Abbot 
Winbert,  formerly  my  Master,  left  me  when  dying,  in  which  six 
Prophets  are  comprised  in  the  same  volume,  written  in  very  distinct 
letters.  You  cannot  send  me  a  greater  consolation  in  my  old  age." 
Epistle  of  Winfred,  or  Boniface,  to  Daniel,  Bp.  of  Winchester,  A.  D.  726. 
— Palmer's  Church  History,  p.  89. 

He  sits  beneath  some  spreading  tree, 

An  aged,  reverend  man, 
"With  book  of  God  upon  his  knee, 

Its  open  page  to  scan. 

Thuringia's  forest-leaves  are  stirred, 

As  the  pure  gale  goes  by, 
But  sweeter  incense  fans  his  heart, 

"The  Spirit  from  on  high." 

2 


10  WIN  FRED. 

The  Prophets !  ah,  they  speak  of  Him, 

To  whom  he  long  has  clung, 
Whose  praises,  now  his  eye  is  dim, 

Still  linger  on  his  tongue. 

The  Prophets !  ah,  with  glowing  strain, 

They  picture  latter  days, 
When  green-clad  earth,  and  distant  main, 

Shall  bask  in  Gospel  rays. 

Isaiah  rolls  the  tide  of  song, 

Unveils  the  distant  years, 
Till  Jacob's  Star — that  beacon  blest, 

In  blazing  pomp  appears. 

And  Jeremy  forgets  to  weep, 

While  musing  of  the  hour, — 
When  Christ,  the  righteous  Branch,  shall  reign, 

And  kingdoms  own  his  power. 

And  he  who  sat  by  Chebar's  flood, 

In  famed  Chaldea's  clime, 
And  saw  the  visions  of  his  God, 

In  retinue  sublime; — 


WIN  FRED.  11 

Ezekiel — the  priestly  bard, 

Describes  the  streams  of  grace, 
Which  issue  in  a  healing  tide, 

From  out  the  holy  place. 

Thus,  as  the  Prophets  all  unfold 

The  visions  bright  they  see, 
And  robe  in  garniture  of  gold, 

A  kingdom  yet  to  be: — 

That  aged  man — that  Priest  of  God, 

As  gushing  tear-drops  start, 
Shuts  up  the  Book  his  Master  gave, 

And  folds  it  to  his  heart. 

Long  has  he  toiled  and  plead  with  men, 

The  sacred  Three  to  own, 
And  oft  Bavaria's  wilds  have  thrilled, 

To  that  impassioned  tone. 

And  even  yet,  in  frosty  age, 

The  standard  still  he  rears, 
And  spreads  abroad  the  seed  of  truth, 

And  waters  it  with  tears. 


12  -WIN  FRED. 


Another  scene — a  river's  bank, 

A  crowd  with  passions  high, 
And  gleaming  swords,  and  halberds  keen, 

Flash  'neath  the  ruddy  sky. 

He  falls — with  prayer  upon  his  lips, 
That  Priest  with  locks  so  white, 

And  all  that  Prophets  wrote  of  bliss, 
Conies  bursting  on  his  sight. 

He  falls — that  Martyr  of  his  Lord, 

Faithful  in  youth  and  age, 
Who  oft  amid  Thuringia's  wilds, 

Had  scanned  the  sacred  page. 

And  now,  amid  the  worthies  high, 
Who  passed  to  Heaven  in  blood, 

We  trace,  in  living  lines,  the  name, 
Of  Boniface  the  Good. 


THE  FUTURE  CHURCH. 

"And  there  shall  be  one  Fold  under  one  Shepherd,"  "that  they  all 
may  be  One." 

Saviour  !  ere  death  had  bid  thy  heart-strings  sever, 

Thine  intercession  for  the  Church  began, 
And  that  calm,  earnest  strain,  subsideth  never, 

Till  one  in  Faith,  the  brotherhood  of  man 
Bow  at  a  Shrine,  where  Peace,  that  gentle  Spirit, 

Sways  her  mild  sceptre  o'er  each  yielding  breast, 
And  truths,  which  carnal  minds  would  disinherit, 

Are  hailed,  and  clung  to,  as  the  Ark  of  Rest. 

Master !  speed  on  the  day,  for  faint  with  watching, 

Thy  children  weep,  as  Discord  loads  the  gale ; 
If  mid  the  gloom,  their  eye  one  beam  is  catching, 

How  would  they  all,  that  sure  precursor  hail. 
That  double  Day-Spring,  in  its  faintest  gushing, 

Would  bid  the  Hydra,  Sect,  abashed  recoil, 
And  to  the  ensign  of  Emmanuel  rushing, 

A  World  would  shout,  "  as  they  who  take  the  spoil." 
2* 


14  THE     FUTURE     CHURCH. 

Oh,  era  most  sublime,  when  at  the  Cross, 

(True  central  point  of  Love,  and  Joy  divine,) 
Mankind  unite  to  quite  consume  the  dross, 

And  the  pure  gold,  no  longer  dim,  refine. 
Then,  Jesus,  come,  the  waving  harvest  gather, 

Then  garner  in  Thy  trophies  far  and  wide, 
And  mid  angelic  plaudits,  to  thy  Father 

Present  the  Church,  Thy  blood-bought  spotless  Bride. 


MY  FATHER  IS  DDIORTAL. 

"A  certain  disciple  was  informed  of  the  death  of  his  Father;  but  he 
said  to  the  messenger,  "  Cease  to  blaspheme ;  for  my  Father  is  immor- 
tal."— Palmer's  Church  History. 

Ah,  tell  me  not  in  rueful  strain, 

That  Death  has  sundered  dearest  ties; 
The  lost  to  Earth  shall  live  again, 

The  withered  flower  resume  its  dyes ; 
But  that  sweet  band  which  links  my  soul 

To  Him  who  is  of  Life  the  giver, 
Renews  its  strength  as  ages  roll, 

And,  blest  be  God,  dissolveth  never. 

Parent  and  child  may  vanish  hence, 

Acquaintance  into  darkness  go; 
And  o'er  life's  fair  inheritance, 

Its  gloomiest  pall  may  sorrow  throw ; — 
But  that  sweet  bond  which  links  my  soul 

To  Him  who  is  of  Grace  the  giver, 
More  closely  knits  as  ages  roll, 

And,  thanks  to  God,  dissolveth  never. 


16  MY    FATHER    IS    IMMORTAL. 

My  Father  lives — my  guide — my  stay, 

Pillar  and  Cloud,  in  Him  I  see; 
When  all  I  cherish  pass  away, 

Immortal  Friend,  He  clings  to  me ; 
And  that  sweet  bond  which  links  to  Him — 

Of  Life — and  G-race — and  Heaven  the  giver- 
But  firmer  grows  as  ages  roll, 

And  wraps  me  up  "in  Christ"  forever. 


A  HYMN  TO  CHKIST,  AS  GOD. 

A    CHURCH   BALLAD. 

"They  affirmed  that  the  whole  of  their  fault  lay  in  this,  that  they 
were  wont  to  meet  together,  on  a  stated  day,  before  it  was  light,  and 
sing  among  themselves  alternately  a  Hymn  to  Christ  as  God."  Letters 
of  Pliny,  A.  D.  107.— Palmer's  Church  History,  p.  12. 

Behold  the  gathering !  youth  and  age 

Are  blending  sweetly  there ; 
One  is  their  destin'd  heritage, 

One  their  absorbing  care. 

Disciples  of  the  Crucified  ! 

When  Earth  abjures  His  name, 
They  breast,  of  scorn,  the  lava  tide, — 

Like  Christ  "despising  shame."* 

They  meet  ere  yet  the  streak  of  dawn 

Has  pioneer'd  the  day; 
Their  night  of  unbelief  has  gone, 

Truth's  sunbeams  round  them  play. 

•  He  endured  the  cross,  despising  the  shame." 


18  A     HYMN    TO    CHRIST,    AS    GOD. 

And  He  who  lights  the  Gentile  world 

With  life-inspiring  beam, 
Has  poured  upon  their  joyous  souls, 

Of  bliss,  a  radiant  stream.* 

Hark  to  the  strain,  whose  every  note, 
Comes  welling  from  the  heart ; 

And  each,  as  on  the  chorus  floats, 
With  rapture  bears  a  part. 

And  what  the  burden  of  the  Song, 

And  what  the  Master-key, 
And  what  the  Name  that  rolls  along, 

In  swelling  symphony  ? 

Go,  ask  historic  page,  and  learn 

How  weak  a  despot's  rod, 
When  they  who  own'd  a  higher  power, 

Sang  Hymns  to  Christ,  as  Q-od. 

Those  Hymns  to  Christ,  they  floated  high, 
When  rack,  and  sword  and  flame, 

Against  the  little,  feeble  flock, 
Like  sweeping  demons  came. 

*  "A  light  to  lighten  the  Gentiles." 


A     HYMN    TO     CHRIST,     AS    GOD.  19 

Those  Hymns  to  Christ, — they  made  the  child 

E'en  manhood's  strength  to  feel ; 
And  woman  at  the  torture  smiled, 

And  Age  defied  the  steel. 

And  rise  they  not  in  chorus  yet, 
Those  Hymns  to  Christ,  as  God  ? 

Yes,  yes,  in  whelming  strains  they  float, 
From  main,  and  mount,  and  sod. 

And  may  they  float,  those  holy  lays, 

Wherever  man  has  trod, 
Until  one  song  all  space  shall  fill, 

A  Hymn  to  Christ,  as  God. 


MONICA,  THE   MOTHER  OF  AUGUSTINE. 

A  CHURCH  BALLAD. 

St.  Augustine  was  born  in  Africa,  and  in  his  early  life  fell  into  vices, 
and  adopted  the  Manichaen  heresy.  He  became  an  attendant  on  the  min- 
istry of  Ambrose,  while  his  pious  mother,  Monica,  prayed  continually 
for  his  conversion.  His  mind  was  now  completely  changed  :  he  was 
made  Presbyter,  and  afterwards  Bishop  of  Hippo. — Palmer's  Church 
History  pp.  62  and  63. 

He  woke  from  fitful  slumber — woke  to  muse, 

Of  sinful  joys  in  prospect — and  the  hues 

Of  magic  colored  all  the  hours  to  come, 

While  thoughts  of  mother,  God,  and  heavenly  home, 

All  succumbed  to  the  one  intense  desire, 

Of  feeding  to  the  full,  base  passion's  fiercest  fire  !  ! 

A  mother  wrestled  for  that  erring  Son, 
With  heart  all  bursting,  and  with  yearning  soul, 
As  Ocean-bed  so  deep  did  feeling  run, 
Strong  as  the  surges  as  they  onward  roll, 
Dead  to  all  thought  but  this — that  Folly's  child, 
Might  break  the  maze  of  vice,  and  be  no  more  be- 
guiled. 


MONICA.  21 

A  pen  was  wielded  by  a  master  hand, 
And  Heresy  recoiled — for  Truth  was  power ; 
And  who,  for  God,  the  Altar-fire  hath  fanned, 
But  he,  who  turned  from  that  Circean  bower, 
Turned  in  his  manhood's  might,  now  strong  in  grace, 
And  sought  within  the  Church,  a  stable  resting-place. 

A  Bishop  ruled  in  Hippo — and  his  heart, 
Large  as  the  circle  of  his  constant  care, 
Was  all  his  Master's,  earth  could  claim  no  part ; 
His  life  was  labor,  and  his  breath  was  prayer, 
That  Bishop  all  a  mother's  hopes  had  crowned, 
A  brand  from  burning  plucked — a  lost  one  more  than 
found. 

Monica !  thy  soft  graces  all  were  hid, 
In  the  effulgence  of  thy  loved  one's  fame, 
But  can  we  muse  on  what  Augustine  did, 
And  not  revere  his  Parent's  honored  name  ? 
In  memory's  tide,  both  shall  commingling  run, 
Both  thrill  the  breast  with  joy,  that  Mother  aad  her 
Son!  ! 


POLYCARP  AT  PRAYER. 

A  CHURCH   BALLAD. 

Polycarp  was  Bishop  of  Smyrna,  and  had  been  a  disciple  of  St.  John. 
Sought  by  his  persecutors,  he  was  at  last  discovered  in  the  evening. 
He  simply  requested  at  their  hands  permission  to  pray  one  hour ;  which 
being  granted,  he  prayed  most  fervently,  so  that  those  who  were  pre- 
sent were  amazed.  Brought  soon  after  before  the  tribunal,  he  nobly 
refused  to  reproach  his  Saviour,  and  suffered  martyrdom  with  unflinch- 
ing fortitude.     A.  D.  167. — Palmer's  Church  History. 

The  eve  of  martyrdom — he  knows  it  well, 

For  those  gaunt  messengers  their  errand  tell : 

The  fiery  baptism  is  his  birthright  now  : 

And  shall  he  crouch  in  fear,  or  tamely  bow 

In  servile  awe,  because  a  despot's  rod 

Becomes  the  rugged  mean  to  speed  his  flight  to  God  ? 

Grant  him  one  hour  for  prayer — one  little  hour, 
And  heaven's  sweet  influence  shall  his  soul  empower ; 
And  visions  of  his  rest,  his  destined  home, 
Shall  to  his  withered  heart  like  sun-beams  come ; 
Then  will  he  rise  to  quit  him  like  a  man, 
And  follow,  strong  in  Faith,  where  Stephen  leads  the 
van. 


POLYCARP    AT    PRAYER.  23 

That  hour  of  prayer — that  calm,  that  hallowed  pause, 
Around  his  soul  Devotion's  curtain  draws, 
And  John's  disciple,  like  his  Teacher  blest, 
Pillows  his  griefs  upon  a  Saviour's  breast : 
In  high  communings  loses  sight  of  time, 
And  owns  no  power  but  God's,  and  feels  that  power 
sublime. 

Then  the  Tribunal  comes — how  cunning  Art 
Would  wrench  the  breast-plate  from  the  hero's  heart ; 
"  Reproach  the  Christ !" — no,  sophistry  of  Hell ! 
Thou  hast  for  Polycarp  no  wizard  spell ; 
For  six  and  eighty  years  he  keeps  the  vow, 
And  could  he — dare  he  thus  blaspheme  that  Maker 
now? 

Bring  out  the  victim — prayer  has  made  him  strong, 
Your  fagots  kindle — he  will  wake  the  Song ; 
The  Cup  of  Christ  ! — to  him  the  draught  is  sweet, 
Who  hears  the  echoes  of  seraphic  feet ; 
What  though  by  man  a  fiery  chariot's  given, 
If  those  sweet  angel  bands  convoy  him  safe  to  Hea- 
ven? 


24  POLYCARP     AT     PRAYER. 

'Tis  o'er — a  life  of  service  and  of  care, 
And  Smyrna's  Bishop,  with  the  snow-white  hair, 
Is  on  the  list  of  Martyrs — heaven  is  won, 
And  John's  disciple  is  as  blest  as  John  ; 
A  Saviour's  smile  o'erpays  a  despot's  frown  : 
Eorgot  the  scathing  flame,  when  gain'd  the  radiant 
crown. 


A  BISHOPS  DYING  HYMN. 


"The  Sacrament  was  soon  administered  by  the  writer.  At  the  pro- 
per place  he  requested  to  hear  read  the  93d  Hymn,  and  as  soon  as  the 
reading  was  ended,  he  sung  clearly  the  second  and  third  verses.  Dur- 
ing the  night  he  said  very  little,  and  for  about  two  hours  before  he 
expired,  was  nearly,  if  not  quite  insensible  to  what  was  passing  around. 
He  sunk  into  the  arms  of  death  without  a  struggle." — Account  of  the 
last  illness  and  death  of  the  Right  Rev.  John  Henry  Hobart,  Bishop 
of  New  York,  from  the  pen  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Rudd. 


That  last  exulting  strain — how  soft  and  clear, 
Its  cadence  fell  upon  the  ravish'd  ear, 
Speaking  oT  Faith,  and  Love,  and  rapture  high, 
Tuning  the  soul  to  heavenly  symphony : 
Though  racked  with  pain,  behold  the  victor  still, 
And  list  the  blessed  lay  he  sings  with  sweetest  thrill. 

Around  the  couch  of  anguish  and  unrest, 
Dissolved  in  grief  his  priestly  children  prest, 
"  Sons  in  the  Faith,"  they  wailed  their  mighty  loss, 
The  loss  of  thee,  tried  champion  of  the  Cross, 
Of  thee,  who  ever  foremost  in  the  van, 
Had  battled  for  the  Church  since  first  thy  course  be- 
gan. 


26  A    BISHOP'S    DYING     HYMN. 

Before  the  mystic  elements  were  given, 
Which  nerved  thy  soul  so  soon  to  pass  to  Heaven, 
Arose  thy  Hymn,  as  Nature  loosed  her  strings, 
And  o'er  thy  brow  stole  Death's  dread  shadowings, 
As  if  to  antedate  the  richer  song, 
Which  swell,  in  realms  afar,  the  beauteous  ransomed 
throng. 

Blest  triumph  this  of  Faith  in  darkest  hour ; 
No  fears  to  shake — no  doubts  to  overpower, 
A  stream  of  radiance  from  the  fount  of  love, 
Baptized  thy  Spirit  as  it  rose  above. 
The  lustrous  crown  had  caught  that  kindling  eye, 
And  Hobart  passed  in  song,  immortal  to  the  sky. 


THE  TWO  DWELLINGS. 


"  I  will  tell  you,  Scholar,  I  hare  heard  a  grave  divine  say,  that  God 
hath  two  dwellings,  one  in  Heaven,  and  the  other  in  a  meek  and 
thankful  heart." — Izaak  Walton's  Complete  Angler. 


Where  does  he  dwell  ?     Look  up  to  yonder  arch, 
Where  thick  as  dust  the  starry  gems  are  strown, 
To  yon  expanse,  where,  in  their  noiseless  march, 
The  Planets  move,  like  outguarcls  of  the  throne. 

Pass  on  in  thought — shoot  o'er  this  pale  of  light, 
This  simple  confine  of  a  brighter  sphere, 
And  then,  advanced  to  more  than  Pisgah  height, 
Survey  the  realm,  undimmed  by  Sorrow's  tear. 

In  that  recess — unscann'd  by  impious  eye, 
Rich  in  the  store  of  uncreated  bliss, 
"Wrapt  in  a  garb  of  pure  Infinity, 
Himself  uncaused — but  power  creative  his — 


28  THE    TWO    DWELLINGS. 

In  that  recess — the  Infinite  Unknown, 

His  glorious  court  for  boundless  ages  keeps  ; 

His  arm  can  wield  Omnipotence  alone, 

His  eye  Omniscient,  slumbers  not,  nor  sleeps. 

But,  humble  Christian,  in  thy  bosom  dwells, 
Not  one  sole  ray  from  that  Almighty  mind, 
But  that  which  in  its  glory  far  excels, 
And  leaves  created  splendor  all  behind. 

Thou  art  Ohristophorus — thine  inmost  heart 
Enshrines  the  Word — he  reigns  in  thee  supreme ; 
A  Temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost  thou  art, 
An  honored  vessel  in  thy  God's  esteem. 

Oh,  lowly  bosom,  what  a  wondrous  guest, 
Unseen  by  human  eye,  but  all  thine  own, 
Thy  heart — on  it,  the  true  Shecinah  rests, — 
Its  Ark — its  Altar — and  its  mystic  Throne. 

Then  let  such  union  blest  be  sundered  not ; 

And  when  thy  race  of  victory  be  run, 

Quick  as  the  levin-flash,  and  swift  as  thought, 

Soar  up  and  blend  with  God,  as  fire  that  seeks  the  Sun. 


THE  VIGIL. 


"  Bishop  Wilson,  of  Soclor  and  Man,  was  a  man  of  prayer.  Even  in 
the  night  he  might  be  heard.  Somefimes  the  words  of  the  Psalmist 
were  indistinctly  heard  by  his  attendants.  Sometimes  parts  of  the 
Te  Deum  were  recognized.  Such  were  the  nightly  orisons  of  this  holy 
man." — Church  History. 


When  Night  her  ebon  curtain  spread 

Above  a  world  of  sorrow, 
And  many  a  sad  and  fever'd  head 

Was  resting  for  the  morrow, 
Upon  the  quiet  air  arose 

The  tones  of  supplication, 
For  ardent  friends,  for  envious  foes, 

For  England's  Church  and  nation. 


And  now  the  Psalms  of  Jesse's  son, 
Imbued  with  love  so  fervent, 

Blent  with  the  nightly  orison 
Of  Christ's  devoted  servant. 


30  THE     VIGIL. 

Anon  Te  Deum's  glowing  strain, 
That  olden  hymn  inspiring, 

Which  still  ascends  from  Christian  fane, 
His  heart  and  tongue  was  firing. 


The  couch  invited  calm  repose, 

And  Nature  called  for  slumber, 
But  still  that  gray-haired  prelate  rose, 

The  hours  in  prayer  to  number, — 
Like  him  who  once  prevailed  with  God, 

His  sinfulness  confessing, 
The  patriarchal  path  he  trod, 

And  wrestled  for  a  blessing. 


And  think  you  not  that  Angels  sped. 

Their  way  through  ether  winging, 
And  rapture  through  his  bosom  shed. 

As  he  his  chant  was  singing ! 
Oh,  think  you  not  that  aiding  grace 

Within  his  heart  was  planted, 
That  glimpses  of  the  Saviour's  face 

By  God's  own  love  were  granted. 


THE     VIGIL.  31 

Church  of  my  love  !  with  sons  like  him, 

To  serve  before  thine  Altar, 
Thy  light  may  ne'er  its  radiance  dim, 

Thy  course  can  never  falter : 
Inscribing  conquest  on  thy  brow, 

Thou  still  shalt  bless  the  nations, 
Of  earth  the  excellency  now, 

The  praise  of  generations. 


FAITH  IN  GOD. 


"Oh,  Lord,  in  Thee  have  I  trusted,  let  me  never  he  confounded.' 
Te  Deum  Laudamus. 


In  Thee  have  I  trusted,  and  trust  in  Thee  still, 
Though  stern  be  Thy  mandate,  and  bitter  Thy  will ; 
For  firm  is  my  faith  in  Thy  covenant  care, 
It  yields  not  an  instant  to  doubt  or  despair. 

In  Thee  have  I  trusted,  and  trust  in  Thee  still, 
The  word  Thou  hast  pledged,  Thou  can'st  surely  fulfill : 
The  hills  may  remove,  and  the  mountains  depart, 
But  the  names  of  Thy  chosen  are  sealed  on  Thy  heart. 

In  Thee  have  I  trusted,  and  trust  in  Thee  still, 
Through  nights  of  affliction,  and  mornings  of  ill ; 
When  friend  and  companion  have  left  me  alone, 
No  solace  but  Jesus — no  stay  but  the  Throne. 


FAITH    IN     GOD.  33 

In  Thee  have  I  trusted,  and  trust  in  Thee  still, 
When  the  breath  of  detraction  is  plotting  me  ill ; 
My  justice  in  season  Thou  bringest  to  sight, 
And  makest  my  dealings  as  clear  as  the  light. 

In  Thee  have  I  trusted,  through  sunshine  and  pain, 
Dear  Lord,  I  have  trusted  Thee  never  in  vain ; 
Thou  wilt  not  deceive  me,  Thou  canst  not  remove, 
Thy  nature  is  Mercy — Thine  attribute  Love. 

Oh,  sickness  may  come  with  its  grief-dealing  train, 
And  Death  my  enjoyments  may  sever  in  twain; 
The  mercy  vouchsafed  me  I  cannot  forget, 
I  cling  to  the  Saviour  with  confidence  yet. 

Then  come  to  this  bosom,  affliction  and  woe, 
My  hope  in  Jehovah  I  cannot  forego; 
His  service  before  me — His  crown  in  my  view, 
Who,  who  could  be  faithless,  when  He  is  so  true  ? 

His  face  may  be  dark,  and  His  frown  may  appear, 
His  tones  of  compassion  may  die  on  the  ear ; 
The  joys  that  I  cherish  may  crumble  to  dust, 
Yet  still  though  He  slav  me,  I  cannot  but  trust. 


THE  WATCHER'S  HYMN. 

"It  was  very  common  to  sing  Psalms  and  Hymns,  during  the  night 
■while  watching  the  dead.  Thus  Augustine  speaks  of  his  Mother's 
death,  and  says  that  Euodius  took  the  Psalter  and  began  to  sing  a 
Psalm,  and  the  whole  family  answered  alternately,  "  I  will  sing  of  mercy 
and  of  judgment,  unto  Thee,  oh  Lord  will  I  sing."—  Christian  Antiquities. 

The  chamber  wore  a  sombre  hue, 
Death  was  the  Sovereign  there, 

And  deeper  yet  the  sadness  grew, 
In  hearts  oppressed  with  care. 

The  household  chain  was  broken  now, 
The  hearth's  delight  was  gone, 

For  icy  was  a  Mother's  brow, 
And  hushed  her  loving  tone. 

She  who  had  clasped  her  hands  in  prayer, 

And  bent  the  suppliant  knee, 
And  sought  the  grace  of  Heaven  to  bear 

Life's  latest  agony, — 


THE    WATCHER'S     HYMN.  35 

Was  resting  in  that  Saviour's  love, 

Whose  Cross  she  meekly  bore, 
A  pillar  in  the  courts  above, 

Thence  to  go  out  no  more. 

And  as  around  her  breathless  form, 

The  Watchers  calmly  drew, 
And  felt,  that  sheltered  from  the  storm 

Was  she,  the  good — the  true. 

The  hallow 'd  page  they  opened  there 

In  the  still  midnight  hour, 
The  comfort  of  the  Word  to  share, 

The  Spirit's  soothing  power. 

And  thus  their  blended  accents  poured, 
And  thus  they  praised  their  King, 

"  Of  Judgment  and  of  Mercy,  Lord, 
Our  trembling  voices  sing." 

Of  Judgment — for  thy  chastening  rod, 

A  fearful  stroke  has  given, 
Of  Mercy — for  the  Christian's  God 

Transfers  his  gems  to  Heaven. 


36 


The  dawn  apace  was  creeping  on, 

The  ruddy  streak  of  day, 
But  in  that  solemn  chamber,  none 

Would  yield  to  slumber's  sway. 

They  placed  sweet  flowrets  on  her  breast, 
Of  bright  and  gorgeous  dyes, 

And  spoke  of  her  unending  rest, 
Who  bloomed  beyond  the  skies. 

And  still  those  ancient  Saints  adored, 
And  still  they  praised  their  King  : 

"Of  judgment  and  of  Mercy,  Lord, 
Our  trembling  voices  sing." 


•<BE  PITIFUL." 

Servant  of  Christ — alas  !  how  oft, 
With  languid  faith  and  senses  dull, 

Hast  thou  the  import  large  forgot, 
Of  those  sweet  words — "  Be  Pitiful." 

And  yet  how  binding  is  the  Law, 
Which  love  of  self  can  ne'er  annul, 

The  Law,  which,  taxing  every  heart, 
Would  bid  each  pulse — "Be  pitiful." 

"Be  pitiful" — for  longing  eyes, 

Moist  with  such  tears  as  Pilgrims  shed, 

Through  blinding  drops  look  up  to  Thee, 
When  Hope  is  wrecked,  and  sunlight  fled. 

And  he,  who,  in  temptation's  hour, 
Poor  child  of  frailty,  strayed  and  fell, 

Shall  in  thine  ear  with  quivering  tone. 
His  tale  of  sad  defection  tell. 
4* 


38  "be   pitiful." 

Say  not — 'tis  hard  to  stoop  to  woe, 
Nor  yield  but  stinted  sympathy ; 

Go,  condescend  to  lowliest  deed, 
When  sin  abased  a  God  for  thee. 

Not  stoop  to  woe  ?     Yon  sunbeam  bright, 

Can  nestle  in  a  nowret's  breast ; 
The  Star  can  give  itself  to  Earth ; 
•  When  mirrored  'neath  the  billow's  crest, 

Those  Rainbow  tints  which  paint  the  cloud, 
Can  linger  on  the  dancing  spray ; 

The  Bird  which  carols  far  aloft, 
Can  chirp  in  quiet  glens  its  lay. 

So,  child  of  Jesus,  speed  to  bless 

The  humblest  soul  that  craves  thy  care, 

Mindful,  that  for  each  gentle  act, 
Thou  shalt  a  Saviour's  favor  share. 

Then,  chronicled  beyond  the  stars, 
"Thy  righteous  dealing"  all  shall  be, 

And  Mercy,  in  the  day  of  ire, 

Shall  spring,  a  healing  stream,  for  thee. 


PRO  ECCLESIA. 


"And  again  we  exhort  you,  in  the  name  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
that  ye  have  in  remembrance,  into  how  high  a  dignity,  and  to  how 
weighty  an  office  and  charge  ye  are  called,  that  is  to  say,  to  be  messen- 
gers, stewards,  and  watchmen  of  the  Lord." — The  Ordering  of  Priests. 


Pro  Ecclesia — up  and  toil, 

While  the  crimson  east  is  glowing, 
Thickly  soon  Night's  shade  will  fall, 

Fast  the  stream  of  life  is  flowing : 
Heart  and  hand,  and  voice  and  pen, 
Pledge  them  all  to  dying  men. 

Mind'st  thou  not  that  solemn  vow, 
Which  from  altar-side  ascended? 

Wilt  thou  shrink  a  craven  now, 
Ere  the  dusty  road  be  ended  ? 

Heat  and  burden  nobly  bear, 

Strife  and  watching  firmly  share. 


40  PRO    ECCLESIA. 

Ye  are  shepherds — guard  the  fold, 
"People  of  His  pasture"  feeding, 

Let  His  Truth  be  kept  unsold, 
Error's  syren  voice  unheeding  : 

Want  and  woe,  if  come  they  must, 

Ne'er  should  drive  you  from  your  trust. 

Pro  Ecclesia — stand  you  then, 
Like  the  Vestals,  by  the  Altar, 

Never  for  the  scoff  of  men, 

Should  your  heart  a  moment  falter  : 

If  the  Saviour  do  but  smile, 

Bear  the  taunt,  and  spurn  the  wile. 

Faithful  Steward !  oh,  when  Death, 
Like  a  shadow  o'er  thee  stealeth, 

Gladly  wilt  thou  yield  thy  breath, 
For  the  bliss  thy  God  revealeth  : 

Then,  like  star  from  waning  free, 

Shalt  thou  shine  eternally. 


THE  DEATH  OF  MOSES. 

"And  die  in  the  Mount  whither  thou  goest  up." — Deuteronomy. 

Go,  ascend  the  green-clad  mountain, 
Moses,  go,  and  gently  die ; 
Gaze  upon  Siloam's  fountain, 
View  Judaea's  purple  sky. 

On  the  Jordan's  swelling  waters, 
Fix  but  once  thy  fainting  sight : 
Then,  amid  thy  sons  and  daughters, 
Sink  to  death's  oblivious  night. 

Olives'  mount  shall  pass  before  thee, 
Sharon's  roses  fill  the  air, 
But  thy  God  cannot  restore  thee, 
To  inhale  the  fragrance  there : 

For,  beside  the  Rock  when  standing, 
With  the  Rod  of  fairy  might, 
In  thy  feeble  name  commanding, 
Water  from  the  flinty  height — 


42  THE    DEATH    OF    MOSES. 

Then,  my  Servant,  didst  thou  grieve  me, 
Then  thy  meekness  changed  to  pride, 
All  thy  goodness  seemed  to  leave  thee, 
Calling  forth  the  crystal  tide. 

Fondly  had  I  thought  to  place  thee, 
In  Judaea's  fruitful  dale, 
But  the  earth-clod  must  encase  thee, 
And  thy  loss  my  people  wail. 

When  thy  heart  hath  ceased  its  bounding, 
And  thy  sinewy  arm  is  cold, 
When  thy  voice  no  more  is  sounding 
All  my  mighty  deeds  of  old : — 

Then,  within  a  land  of  glory, 
Brighter — fairer  far  than  this, 
Shalt  thou  chant  Redemption's  story, 
And  thy  harp  be  strung  to  bliss. 

Up  he  went,  with  staff  ascending, 
Wondrous  visions  cheered  his  eyes, 
Angel  bands  his  steps  attending, 
Leading  him  to  Paradise. 


THE     DEATH     OF     MOSES.  43 


Thus  he  stood — a  Pilgrim  hoary, 
Waiting  meekly  but  to  die, 
And  dishonor  changed  to  glory, 
Time  to  Immortality. 


BUT  YESTERDAY  WE  SPRANG  TO  BIRTH. 


"  We  are  but  of  yesterday,  yet  we  have  filled  your  empire,  your  cities, 
3'our  castles,  your  corporate  towns,  your  assemblies,  your  very  camps." 
— "We  constitute  almost  the  majority  in  every  town." — Tertuttian, 
A.  D.  198. 


But  yesterday  we  sprang  to  birth, 
Disciples  of  a  martyr'd  King, 

Now,  heralded  throughout  the  earth, 
Our  noble  faith  is  triumphing. 

Ye  thought  to  crush  that  mystic  tree, 
Whose  leaves  the  fainting  nations  heal, 

But  now  its  branches  wide  and  free, 
The  Planter's  mighty  arm  reveal. 

The  thronging  mart,  who  mingle  there  ? 

They  whom  the  world  could  once  deride. 
What  glitters  on  yon  house  of  prayer  ? 

The  sign  of  Him  ye  crucified. 


BUT    YESTERDAY    WE    SPRANG    TO    BIRTH.      45 


Go  to  the  court  where  grandeur  reigns 
And  men  too  oft  their  God  forget ; 

Go,  learn — Ambition  never  stains 
A  Christian  ruler's  coronet. 


On  mountain-top — by  rolling  flood, 
"Within  the  deep  and  shaded  glen, 

The  glowing  theme  is  Jesus'  blood, 
Effused  for  dying — guilty  men. 

In  senate  and  in  camp  they  move, 
The  just,  the  upright,  and  the  true, 

All  eloquent  for  Him  they  love, 
Prepared  to  suffer,  or  to  do. 

They  heed  not  axe,  nor  lash,  nor  thorn, 
Supported  by  the  Holy  Ghost, 

Fair  as  the  bright  and  purple  morn, 
And  potent  as  a  bannered  host. 

Though  yesterday  we  sprang  to  birth, 
Disciples  of  a  martyr 'd  King, 

Soon  shall  a  sin-benighted  earth, 
The  conquests  of  Emmanuel  sing. 
5 


THE  CHURCH  NOT  NEW. 


"As  to  the  pretension  of  a  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  having  been 
in  existence  before  the  sixteenth  century,  British  divines  maintain  it, 
but  it  has  ever  been  repudiated  by  all  unprejudiced  historians  as  the 
baseless  fabric  of  a  vision." — Guilliard. 


No — farther  back  than  saintly  Paul, 
Our  blood-bought  charter  goes  ; 

By  Christ's  omnific  sovereign  call, 
The  Church's  fabric  rose. 

Before  the  city  of  the  hills, 
Advanced  her  lordly  claim  ; 

Or  men  of  guile  with  stubborn  wills, 
Gave  Heresy  a  name : 

With  buttress  firm  upon  the  Rock, 

In  towering  pride  alone, 
She  braved  of  earth  and  hell  the  shock, 

With  Christ  her  corner-stone. 


THE    CHURCH    NOT    NEW.  47 

"  A  Creature  made  by  mortal  hand  !" 

No — He  who  framed  the  skies, 
And  counts  each  grain  of  Ocean's  sand, 

And  gives  the  flower  its  dyes — 

He  placed  within  his  bloocl-bought  fold, 

The  sacred  Orders  three ; 
And  from  that  hour  we  firmly  hold, 

Our  settled  Ministry. 

What — sprang  the  Church  we  doubly  prize, 

From  royal  Henry's  nod  ? 
Take  back  the  word — the  Christian  cries, 

She  owes  her  birth  to  God. 

Protesting  from  her  natal  hour, 

When  Error  reared  its  crest ; 
Episcopal  in  name  and  power, 

While  earth  her  claim  confessed ; 

A  Witness  for  the  Truth  she  stood, 

Unheeding  shame  or  loss ; 
Her  potent  seal — Emmanuel's  blood, 

Her  battle-cry — The  Cross. 


48  THE     CHURCH     NOT    WE  W. 

And  stand  She  will,  till  He  shall  come, 

Who  bade  her  portals  rise, 
To  give  His  every  child  a  home, 

A  Kingdom  in  the  skies. 


THE  BELL  OF  THE  FLOATING  CHAPEL, 


RECENTLY  PRESENTED  BY  THE  SUNDAY  SCHOOLS  OF  CHRIST  CHURCH 
PARISH. 


Rixg  out  its  peal !  and  as  the  cadence  floats 
Far  o'er  the  azure  waters,  men  shall  pause, 

While,  like  an  angel's  tongue,  those  silvery  notes, 
Speak  to  the  heart  of  Jesus  and  his  cause, 

Invite  to  prayer,  and  Zion's  holy  strain, 

And  welcome  to  the  fold  poor  wanderers  of  the  main. 

Ring  out  its  peal !  'twill  tell  of  children's  love, 

Tell  of  the  generous  warmth  which  fills  the  breast, 
The  glow  of  feeling  kindled  from  above, 

Ere  the  young  soul  by  earth  has  been  possest : 
Yes,  let  its  changes  wake  the  sleeping  air, 
While  rugged  seamen  weep,  and  think  who  placed  it 
there. 

5* 


50  BELL    OF    THE    FLOATING     CHAPEL. 

List  to  its  voice !  at  first  the  gentle  swell, 
Then  the  full  burst,  so  joyous  and  so  clear ; 

Ah,  how  it  speaks  of  Heaven — that  thrilling  bell, 
Until  the  inmost  spirit  wakes  to  hear ; 

While  he  who  tosses  on  the  briny  sea, 

Feels  in  his  heart — that  bell  is  calling  me. 

Sons  of  the  Church  !  shall  childhood  bring  its  gift, 
And  will  not  ye  be  roused  to  double  life  ? 

Yes,  pour  the  offering  with  unstinted  hand ; 
Here  be  competitors — 'tis  holy  strife ; 

Give — give  the  Gospel— can  ye  heed  the  cost  ? 

When  ye  yourselves  are  safe — can  ye  forget  the  lost  f 

Chime  on,  sweet  bell,  may  thousands  heed  thy  call, 
Turn  from  the  spoiler's  path,  and  weep  for  sin, 

Then  strong  in  Faith  before  the  footstool  fall, 
Invoking  grace  the  victor  crown  to  win ; 

And  when  the  sailor's  latest  hour  has  sped, 

Strike  on  his  ear  once  more,  and  tell  of  "  land  ahead." 


SAINT  MARTIN,  BISHOP  OF  TOURS. 


THE    FOLLOWING    EFFUSION    IS     BASED     UPON    A    BEAUTIFUL    FACT    IN 
CHURCH   HISTORY. 


'Twas  freezing  keenly,  and  the  blast 
Went  whistling  round  the  hill, 

And  flakes  of  snow  descended  fast, 
Upon  the  purling  rill. 

Before  an  ample  casement  stood, 

A  soldier,  sternly  bold, 
To  scan  with  eager  eye  the  flood, 

That  'neath  his  turrets  roll'd ; 

For  shiv'ring  by  its  brink  he  spied, 

A  tottering,  aged  man, 
Who  oft  had  seen  the  seasons  glide, 

And  now  had  reach' d  his  span. 


52  SAINT     MARTIN. 

The  soldier  had  a  melting  heart, 
Though  darkly  stern  his  mien, 

And  quickly  would  the  tear-drop  start, 
Whene'er  distress  was  seen. 

He  wrapp'd  him  in  his  doublet's  fold, 
And  took  his  trusty  blade, 

And  stood  beside  the  beggar  old, 
In  martial  garb  array 'd : 

In  twain  he  cleft  his  mantle  wide, 

And  gave  its  half  away, 
To  wrap  that  beggar  by  his  side, 

On  such  a  wintry  day. 

A  beauteous  dream  was  his  that  night, 

To  see  a  Seraph  band, 
And  mid  them  all  the  Lord  of  Life, 

In  matchless  beauty  stand. 

Around  that  Saviour's  noble  form, 
The  doublet's  half  was  cast, 

Then  did  his  generous  soul  grow  warm, 
In  musing  on  the  past ; 


SAINT     MARTIN.  53 

He  woke  in  tears — his  pillow  wet ; 

That  simple  deed  of  love, 
A  sweet  approving  smile  had  met, 

From  the  good  Lord  above. 

That  kindly  act  to  Christ  was  done, 

To  Christ  belong  the  poor, 
So  Jesus  put  the  mantle  on, 

And  smiled  beside  his  door. 


An  ancient  tower  is  pealing  forth 

Its  merry  matin-tone, 
And  from  the  south  to  distant  north, 

Its  service-call  is  known : 

"Who  reads  with  deferential  grace, 
The  lofty,  thrilling  prayer  ? 

The  features  of  a  well-known  face, 
Are  now  enkindling  there. 


54  SAINT    MARTIN. 

He  has,  'tis  true,  a  priestly  stole, 
His  head  with  years  is  grey, 

But  his  was  once  a  soldier's  soul: 
Upon  a  wintry  day, 

His  doublet's  half  to  Christ  he  gave, 
When  once  the  poor  he  blest, 

And  then  his  priceless  soul  to  save, 
To  Jesus'  side  he  prest. 

A  Soldier  once — a  Bishop  then, 
In  feeling  heart  the  same, 

The  Church  among  her  faithful  men, 
Now  ranks  St,  Martin  s  name. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  HERO. 


STANZAS    TO    THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  REV.  WHITING   GRISWOLD,  LATE   REC- 
'     TOR    OP    ST.    JOHN'S    CHURCH,    ST.  LOUIS,  MO.,  WHO    RECENTLY    FELL    A 
VICTIM  TO  THE  PREVAILING  EPIDEMIC,  WHILE  DISCHARGING  HIS  MINIS- 
TERIAL DUTY. 


" Thou  art  fallen,  young  tree,  with  all  thy  beauty  round  thee;  thou 
art  fallen  on  the  plains,  and  all  the  field  is  bare.  The  wind  comes  from 
the  desert,  and  there  is  no  sound  in  thy  leaves." — Ossian — Poem  of 
Berrathon. 


And  thou  hast  gone — the  Archer's  poison'd  dart, 

Hath  sent  the  death-pang  to  thy  noble  heart, 

Sepulchral  stillness  settles  round  thy  form, 

And  that  mild  face,  with  generous  feeling  warm, 

No  more  beams  out  to  light  a  kindred  ray, 

In  eyes  now  doubly  dimmed  since  thou  hast  pass'd  away. 

Thine  was  a  Martyr's  transit — hallow'd  zeal, 
Bore  thee  right  on  in  deeds  of  Christian  love, 

But  soon  did  angel  accents  downward  steal — 

"  The  crown,  the  palm-branch,  wait  thee  now  above." 


56  THE    CHRISTIAN     HERO. 

In  that  soft  cadence  pain  was  lulled  to  rest, 

And  the  dread  scourge,  to  thee,  a  Messenger,  how  blest ! 

When  to  the  trumpet's  clang  the  warrior  hies, 
His  life-blood  pledging  to  his  native  shore, 

And  struggling  nobly,  rattling  hail  defies, 

Shouts  mid  his  pangs,  and  triumphs  stained  with  gore, 

Then  Freedom  chants  her  eulogistic  song, 

And  bids  the  distant  age  the  swelling  strain  prolong. 

And  when  in  Duty's  van  the  Christian  falls, 
Foremost  and  first  mid  pestilence  and  death, 

Prompt  to  respond  wherever  suffering  calls, 
And  mid  his  labors  yielding  back  his  breath, 

Perish  the  thought  that  He  should  die  unwept, 

And  have  no  sacred  shrine  in  which  his  name  is  kept. 

Soldier  of  Jesus,  thou  has  served  thy  Lord, 
With  faith  unshrinking  to  the  latest  hour, 

Pass  onward,  upward,  to  thy  bright  reward, 
The  starry  crown,  the  amaranthine  bower ; 

Thine  was  the  turmoil  of  the  battle  plain, 

Now  thine  with  Christ  for  aye  a  "King  and  Priest"  to 
reign. 


THE    CHRISTIAN     HERO.  57 

One  cypress  bough  above  thy  grave  we  place, 
Betokening  sorrow  for  a  Church  bereft ; 

One  line  of  grief  upon  that  stone  we  trace, 

For  friends  and  loved  ones  thou  hast  early  left ; 

Then  scatter  flowers  upon  thy  lowly  bed, 

And  tears  of  chasten'd  Joy  are  all  the  tears  we  shed. 


CHRISTIAN  PEACE. 


"  Oh  Lamb  of  God,  who  taketh  away  the  sins  of  the  world,  grant 
us  thy  .Peace." — The  Litany. 


When  conscience,  with  its  tongue  of  flame, 
The  guilt  of  heart  and  life  shall  name, 
And  Sinai's  mount  its  thunder  peals, 
As  horror  o'er  the  bosom  steals  ; 
Then  be  thy  saving  blood  applied, 
Thou  Lamb  of  God  who  meekly  died ; 
Then  bid  the  Law  its  threatening  cease, 
And  grant  me  thine  eternal  Peace. 

Passion  its  storm  will  raise  within, 
And  wake  to  birth  the  monster  sin, 
And  lusts  which  war  against  the  soul, 
Will  seek  my  spirit  to  control : 
Then,  Lamb  of  God,  who  calmed  the  wave, 
Thy  chosen  ones  from  death  to  save, 
Oh,  bid  the  tempest  quickly  cease, 
And  grant  me  thy  subduing  Peace. 


CHRISTIAN     PEACE.  59 

Affliction  with  its  iron  rod, 
Will  say — Be  still  and  know  thy  God, 
The  cup  of  trembling  must  I  taste, 
When  to  my  lips  by  Jesus  placed, 
Then  dissipate  the  thickening  gloom, 
The  prospect  with  thy  grace  illume : 
Oh,  Lamb  of  God,  bid  murmurs  cease, 
And  grant  me  thy  consoling  Peace. 

And  when  at  last  the  midnight  cry, 

Proclaims  the  Bridegroom's  advent  nigh, 

Then  with  a  holy,  Christian  hope, 

Help  me  to  yield  my  spirit  up, 

Then,  dying  Lamb,  thy  Peace  impart, 

Sustain  in  death  my  failing  heart, 

And  let  me  hear  the  rapturous  word, 

"  Come  Home,  thou  blessed  of  the  Lord." 


OH,  SPEAK  TO  THY  BROTHER. 

Oh,  speak  to  thy  Brother,  perchance  he  has  erred. 
But  magic  there  dwells  in  a  comforting  word, 
And  a  sentence  of  counsel,  imparted  in  love, 
May  steal  to  his  heart  as  the  tone  of  the  dove. 

The  iron  of  censure  has  entered  his  soul, 
Speak  soothingly  once  and  the  tear-drop  will  roll. 
The  gushings  of  penitence,  tempered  with  bliss, 
The  ray  of  fresh  confidence,  all  shall  be  his. 

True,  others  forsake  him  when  wreck'd  with  despair ; 
Will  you  make  his  burden  still  harder  to  bear  ? 
Oh,  ease  then,  that  load  which  is  crushing  him  fast, 
One  brow  let  there  be  with  no  frown  overcast. 

His  guilt  may  be  dark — and  the  merciless  storm, 
Of  stern  accusation  is  bowing  his  form  ; 
Let  him  creep  to  thy  heart  till  its  peltings  are  o'er. 
And  then  he  may  wander  from  virtue  no  more. 


OH,     SPEAK     TO     THY     BROTHER  61 

Say, — say — dost  thou  hope  for  the  mercy  of  Heaven, 
And  hast  thou  full  oft  been  by  Jesus  forgiven  ? 
Then  stand  like  an  angel  to  shelter  and  cheer, 
And  bid  the  bright  rainbow  illumine  the  tear. 


Should  others  reproach  thee — oh,  heed  not  the  jest, 
Speak  kind  to  the  erring — and  hope  for  the  best : 
If  Godhead  could  stoop  for  the  vilest  to  die, 
Compassion's  sweet  boon  wilt  thou  dare  to  deny ': 

No,  speak  to  thy  Brother — rise  up  and  be  strong  ; 
"What  matters  to  thee  the  rough  taunt  of  the  throng 
Let  him  creep  to  one  heart  till  the  tempest  is  o'er, 
And  then  he  may  wander  from  virtue  no  more. 


6* 


THE  WEEPING  CHURCH.— A  LENTEN  MEASURE. 


The  Bridegroom  shall  be  taken  away  from  them,  and  then  shall 
they  fast." 


The  Church,  in  sable  weeds  of  grief, 

Her  absent  Lord  laments  ; 
And  in  the  syllables  of  woe, 

Her  burdened  feeling  vents. 
The  Bridegroom's  voice  she  hears  not  now, 

In  soft  impassioned  tone ; 
He  passed  beyond  her  straining  sight, 

To  grace  his  Father's  throne. 

Ah,  blame  her  not,  as  toiling  on, 

In  more  than  wintry  wild, 
She  weeps  as  one  who  mourns  apart, 

"His  dove,  his  undefiled." 
Her  heart  within  the  veil  is  set, 

Her  trusting  heart  is  there, 
Where  Christ  the  blest  Forerunner  pleads, 

With  interceding  prayer. 


THE    WEEPING    C  H  U  K  C  H.  63 

The  tabret  and  the  harp  of  earth. 

Grate  discord  on  her  ear, 
For  ashes  are  her  beauty  now. 

Her  solace  is  the  tear; 
While  cruel  mockers  gather  round. 

And  wave  the  iron  rod, 
And,  filled  with  bitterness,  exclaim, 

"Ah,  where  is  now  thy  God." 

Then  bright  the  day,  and  blest  the  hour, 

"When  Christ  again  shall  come, 
And  she,  His  waiting  Bride,  the  Church, 

Be  welcomed  to  her  Home : 
Then  militant  on  Earth  no  more, 

Her  eye  no  longer  dim, 
The  Heaven,  and  Heaven  of  Heavens,  shall  peal 

With  her  espousal  hymn. 


IN  TE,  DOMINE,  SPERAVL" 


Priest  :  Lift  up  your  hearts. 

Answer:  We  lift  them  up  uuto  the  Lord." — Communion  Service. 


Lift  up  your  hearts — it  is  an  Angel's  pleading, 
As  anguish  keen  the  fount  of  grief  unseals ; 

And  he  who  mid  his  woe  that  voice  is  heeding, 
Secures  the  balsam  which  his  bosom  heals. 

Lift  up  jour  hearts — this  scene  of  brief  probation, 

Is  but  the  vestibule  to  yonder  sky, 
And  they  whose  portion  here  is  tribulation, 

Seats  doubly  bright  will  occupy  on  high. 

Lift  up  your  hearts — though  born  and  reared  in  sorrow, 
Though  tempted  oft  to  entertain  despair, 

From  God's  blest  volume  Faith  can  surely  borrow, 
Enough  to  dissipate  the  darkest  care. 


65 


Lift  up  thy  heart — though  loved  ones  pass  to  heaven. 

And  leave  thee  bending  o'er  the  grassy  mound; 
Rejoice  that  now,  accepted  and  forgiven, 

They  walk  in  white  since  worthy  they  are  found. 

Lift  up  thy  heart — departed  ones  shall  greet  thee. 

From  every  feature  beaming  seraph  bliss; 
The  tried — the  true — the  gentle  all  shall  meet  thee. 

In  regions  sunnier — lovelier  far  than  this. 

Lift  up  thy  heart — when  malice  plans  thy  ruin, 
The  wrath  of  man  shall  work  thy  Maker's  praise; 

And  He  who  notes  his  creature's  every  doing, 
Will  yet  subvert  the  dark  designer's  ways. 

If  mid  His  jewels  is  thy  spirit  counted, 
Safe  as  the  apple  of  His  eye  thou  art ; 

And  on  his  throne  in  regal  grandeur  mounted, 
Fnknown  to  thee  He  vindicates  thy  part. 

Yes,  child  of  trouble,  let  the  storm-cloud  gather, 
Thou  hast  a  refuge  till  its  peltings  cease ; 

When  dies  the  tempest,  thy  indulgent  Father, 
Will  span  the  azure  with  a  bow  of  peace. 


66  "IN     TE,     DOMINE,     SPERAVI." 

Lift  up  thy  heart — oh,  list  those  mellow  numbers. 
As  down  they  float  to  this  sad  world  of  ours ; 

And  if  in  guilt  thy  deathless  spirit  slumbers, 
To  Grod  thy  Saviour  dedicate  its  powers. 

Look  off  from  time,  with  all  its  airy  dreaming, 
Bow  down  in  dust  upon  a  suppliant  knee  ; 

And/say,  as  rapture  in  thine  eye  is  gleaming, 
My  heart,  oh  God,  my  heart  I  lift  to  thee. 


THE  LITTLE  CLOUD. 


"When  Julian  the  Apostate  commanded  Athanasius  to  leave  the  city 
of  Alexandria,  as  he  departed  from  his  see,  and  heheld  the  people 
weeping  around  him,  he  exclaimed,  "  Take  courage,  this  is  but  a  little 
cloud,  which  shall  quickly  pass  away ;"  and  so  indeed  it  proved.  For 
on  the  accession  of  Jovian,  Athanasius  was  promptly  restored. —  Church 
History. 


Take  courage — 'tis  a  little  cloud, 

That  soon  will  pass  away, 
The  hearts  that  now  with  grief  are  bowed, 

May  only  grieve  to-day. 
To-morrow,  up  the  azure  height 

The  sun  may  dart  his  beam, 
And  then  one  joyous  burst  of  light, 

O'er  mount  and  vale  shall  stream. 

When  thwarted  plans  and  baffled  hopes, 

Become  our  only  store, 
And  the  crush' d  spirit  barely  copes, 

With  ills  unknown  before, 


68  THE    LITTLE    CLOUD. 

Despond  not — yet  the  tide  will  turn, 
The  gales  propitious  play  ; 

Take  courage — 'tis  a  little  cloud, 
That  soon  will  pass  away. 

When  doubts  eclipse  the  ray  of  joy, 

And  fears  their  shadows  cast, 
When  rugged  seems  the  way  to  bliss, 

And  foes  come  crowding  fast, 
Faint  not — a  mightier  power  than  thine, 

Is  pledged  those  foes  to  slay, 
Light  shall  at  last  for  thee  be  sown, 

The  cloud  shall  pass  away. 

But  shades  there  not  the  vale  of  Death, 

A  cloud  of  sombre  fold  ? 
Yes — but  the  eagle-eye  of  Faith, 

Detects  the  streak  of  gold  : 
Those  radiant  tints  shall  wider  spread, 

And  form  one  burnish'd  sea, 
Till  thine  at  last,  triumphant  Saint, 

Is  Immortality. 


THE  SWEET  CALL. 


"Next  may  be  mentioned  the  Hallelujah,  and  the  Halleluatic 
Psalms  ;  the  former  was  the  most  common  ;  when  used  it  was  sung  by 
all  the  people,  and  Augustine  terms  it  "  the  Christian's  sweet  call/' 
whereby  they  invited  one  another  to  sing  praises  unto  Christ." — Christ- 
ian Antiquities. 


When  priestly  lips  would  bid  us  praise, 
The  Lord  of  life  who  loves  us  all, 

The  Church  doth  Hallelujahs  raise, 
And  doubly  sweet  regard  the  call. 

Then  lowly  hearts  with  rapture  thrill, 
Reviewing  countless  mercies  given, 

While  faith  grows  firm,  and  doubts  are  still, 
And  Hope  is  catching  views  of  Heaven  : 

Then  lays  the  Church  her  ashes  by, 
And  beauty  in  their  place  receives, 

While  to  the  deep — the  contrite  sigh, 
Succeeds  the  peace  that  Jesus  gives. 

7 


THE     SWEET     CALL 

But  oh,  if  sweet  the  call  to  praise, 

Within  the  earthly  fane  of  God, 
What  loud  ascriptions  shall  we  raise, 

Admitted  to  yon  bright  abode. 

If  lovelier  than  the  song-bird's  note, 
Devotion's  gushing  strain  of  love, 

How  richly  will  our  anthems  float, 
When  the  freed  spirit  soars  above. 

Dear  Saviour,  rising  thus  to  Thee, 
Encumbered  by  no  fleshly  thrall, 

Will  not  Thy  faithful  children  see, 

That  Death  can  give  the  Sweetest  call. 


FALL  OF  JERUSALEM. 


"Daughters  of  Jerusalem,  weep  nut  for  Me,  bat  weep  for  yourselves 
and  your  children." — SY.  Luke  xxiii.  28. 


Oh,  weep  not,  Jerusalem's  daughters, 
For  Him  who  is  toilino:  alon^, 

He  clrinketh  of  agony's  waters, 

But  the  Cross  is  preceding  the  song. 

But  weep  that  the  Roman  invader 
Shall  march  to  your  city  of  pride, 

And  when  in  the  dust  he  has  laid  her, 
Your  deep-seated  anguish  deride. 

And  weep  that  the  child  of  your  bosom, 
By  parents  so  fondly  adored, 

Shall  perish  an  innocent  blossom, 
A  prey  to  the  conqueror's  sword. 


72  FALL    OF    JERUSALEM. 

The  curse  is  upon  thee,  my  nation, 

The  sword  from  its  scabbard  shall  leap, 

And  Salem,  in  stern  desolation, 
Above  the  wide  ruin  shall  weep. 

Yet  He  who  is  toiling  in  weakness, 
With  chaplet  of  thorns  on  His  brow, 

Besought  thee  in  love,  and  in  meekness, 
Beneath  His  dear  sceptre  to  bow. 

But  the  message  of  mercy  is  ended, 
My  blood,  like  a  millstone  shall  fall, 

For  the  wish  that  to  God  has  ascended, 
Ye  cannot,  my  people,  recall.* 

Then  faithful,  affectionate  daughters, 
Distill  for  your  Salem  the  tear, 

Your  city — a  valley  of  slaughter, 
Your  heritage — trembling  and  fear. 

*  Matt,  xxvii.  25. 


OH  LORD,  THE  WATERS  SAW  THEE. 

The  teeming  host  pressed  onward  still, 

From  Misraim'a  land  of  blood  and  grief, 
Forgetting  all  the  bitter  ill, 

In  thinking  of  the  sweet  relief: 
See  Moses  raise  that  mystic  rod, 

Before  united  Israel's  view, 
The  waters  saw  Thee,  then,  oh  God, 

And  let  Thy  ransomed  people  through. 

The  priestly  band  to  Jordan  sped, 

Bearing  their  hallowed  burden  still, 
And  back  the  sever'd  waters  fled, 

And  on  they  press'd  to  Zion's  hill: 
Forth  marched  that  army  in  its  might, 

A  band  of  joyous,  shouting  men, 
The  promised  land  was  in  their  sight, 

Oh  God,  the  waters  saw  Thee  then. 
7* 


74   OH  LORD,  THE  WATERS  SAW  THEE. 

Beside  the  Jordan's  verdant  shore, 


I  see  my  lowly  Saviour  stand, 
Receiving  (He  whom  saints  adore,) 

The  baptism  of  His  creature's  hand; 
The  mystic  dove  alights  in  air, 

The  Father's  voice  declares  his  Son, 
Oh  God,  the  waters  saw  Thee  there, 

When  once  that  hallowed  rite  was  done. 

A  walking  form  is  on  the  wave, 

His  mien  is  high,  and  stern  His  glance, 
The  sea  must  surely  prove  His  grave, 

Who  dares  so  reckless  thus  advance; 
He  treads  the  main  like  grassy  sod, 

With  step  as  light,  with  gait  as  free, 
For  oh,  those  waters  saw  a  God, 

Those  darkling  waves  of  Galilee. 

Soon  from  a  world  of  woe  like  this, 

My  heart  must  turn  its  thoughts  aside, 
But  ere  I  gain  the  shore  of  bliss, 

With  Jesus  must  I  stem  the  tide ; 
Redeemer,  God,  be  with  me  there, 

Impart  Thy  saving  health  and  grace, 
No  sting  I  feel — I  own  no  care, 

If  Death's  cold  ivaters  vieiv  Thy  face. 


THE  COUNCIL  OF  THE  CHURCH. 


"  And  as  they  thus  spake,  Jesus  himself  stood  in  the  midst  of  them 
and  saith  unto  them,  Peace  be  unto  you." — Luke  xxiv.  36. 

"  Lo,  /  am  with  you  always,  even  unto  the  end  of  the  world." — 
Matthew  xxviii.  20. 


A  sorrowing  band  they  met — their  Master  gone, 
And  Israel's  hope  eclipsed  to  mortal  ken  ; 

A  spirit  crush' d  reveal' d  each  quivering  tone, 
And  deep  dejection  mark'd  those  chosen  men. 

Convened  that  infant  Church  in  weeds  of  grief, 
And  dark  presages  foemen  whispered  round  ; 

But  see — what  vision  brings  its  sweet  relief. 
And  bid  with  rapture  every  bosom  bound ; 

Jesus,  the  Church's  Head  is  with  them  now, 
Their  earliest  gathering  thus  to  richly  bless  j 

The  cloud  of  gloom  to  roll  from  every  brow, 
And  steep  their  spirits  in  His  love's  caress. 


76  THE    COUNCIL    OF    THE    CHURCH. 

That  little  band,  a  solid  phalanx  grown, 

With  Hope  thrice  buoyant,  and  in  Jesus  strong ; 

Now  battle  stoutly  Satan  to  dethrone, 
And  "  Pro  Ecclesia"  is  the  victor-song, 

Once  more  its  Council  meets — the  anointed  train, 
Who  bear  the  Ark  before  Jehovah's  van ', 

New  strength  by  kindly  fellowship  to  gain, 
And  weighty  acts  by  blended  wisdom  plan. 

And  will  not  He,  the  Faithful  and  the  True, 
Who  cheer' d  His  chosen  as  they  sat  depressed ; 

Oh,  will  He  not  preside  unseen  with  you, 

And  shed  His  influence  in  each  waiting  breast  ? 

Should  fancied  omens  fill  with  doubts  the  good, 

And  timid  hearts  anticipate  but  ill ; 
Then  He  Who  once  by  John  in  Patmos  stood, 

Their  hopes  will  kindle,  and  their  tremors  still.   • 

His  promised  Spirit  will  impart  its  ray, 

His  guiding  hand  each  high  decision  mould ; 

For  bright  achievements  still  prepare  the  way, 
And  views  of  duty  lucidly  unfold. 


THE    COUNCIL    OP    THE    CHURCH.  77 

Then  to  the  work — the  hallow'd  trust  discharge, 
Your  noblest  powers  to  vigorous  action  bring  j 

Quit  you  like  men — and  be  to  Earth  at  large, 

Sons  of  the  Faith,  and  Champions  of  your  King. 


CALVARY  CHURCH.— MONUMENT  TO 
BISHOP  WHITE. 

"Our  object  is  to  erect,  in  the  Northern  Liberties,  a  Church  which 
shall  both  commemorate  the  worthof  the  first  Anglo-American  Prelate, 
Bishop  White,  and  afford  to  all,  to  poor  as  well  as  rich,  the  precious 
means  of  grace,  which  our  blessed  Master  has  ordained  for  the  salvation 
of  Mankind." — Report  of  the  Ladies  Missionary  Association. 

How  time  has  circled  o'er  our  head, 
Since  that  dear  Prelate  passed  away, 

Our  sacramental  host  who  led, 

In  many  a  dark  and  troublous  day. 

Yet  memory  oft  will  sketch  his  form, 
The  silvery  locks — the  placid  brow, 

Each  feature  with  affection  warm. 
Depict  themselves  before  us  now. 

But  have  we  reared  a  lasting  shrine, 

The  witness  of  his  virtues  rare  ? 
Do  Gratitude  and  Love  combine, 

And  thus  his  peerless  worth  declare  ? 


CALVARY     CHURCH. 

In  firm,  compact,  embodied  form, 

What  granite  tablet  speaks  his  name  ? 

What  pile  preserves  his  image  warm, 
And  still  transmits  his  deeds  to  fame  ? 

Ah  none — vet  still  if  toil  be  blest, 

And  woman's  work  of  Faith  sustained, 

Success  must  fill  with  joy  the  breast, 
And  that  dear  project  soon  be  gained. 

The  Daughters  of  the  Church  would  rear, 

A  temple,  with  its  portals  free, 
And  train  and  nurture  spirits  there, 

God's  chosen  ones  at  last  to  be. 

And  as  that  monumental  fane, 

Shall  burst  upon  their  longing  sight, 

Its  Altar,  aisle,  and  glowing  pane, 

Shall  breathe  the  name  of  Bishop  White. 

Let  manhood  bring  its  coffer' d  store, 
Be  woman's  tribute  gladly  given. 

Let  childhood,  too,  its  offering  pom*, 
Winning  the  fostering  smile  of  Heaven. 


80  CALVARY     CHURCH. 

Yes,  consecrate  to  God  the  gold, 
And  as  that  Temple  rises  free. 

Until  its  topmost  stone  is  told, 

Let  Grace,  free  Grace,  the  shouting  be ! 


THE  GREEKS  AT  THE  FEAST. 

"  Sir,  we  would  see  Jesus." 

They  wandered  through  the  massive  gates. 
And  gazed  upon  the  motley  throng, 

They  heard  the  white-robed  band  pour  out, 
The  flood  of  solemn,  ancient  song. 

The  turbaned  Rabbi  and  the  Scribe, 
In  broidered  robes  and  fringes  gay, 

Pressed  on  with  eager  glance  to  join, 
The  rites  of  that  thrice  festal  day. 

But  they — the  Grecian  Pilgrims — saw, 
No  magic  show  to  bind  them  there, 

Though  incense  with  a  perfumed  cloud, 
Was  filling  fast  the  House  of  Prayer. 


82  THE    GREEKS    AT    THE    FEAST. 

The  Sanhedrim  enthroned  in  State, 


To  these  poor  wanderers  all  were  nought, 
For  Jesus,  in  that  clustered  throng — 
For  Him,  the  Christ,  alone  they  sought. 

Sir,  we  would  see  him — for  our  ears 
Have  heard  his  god-like  acts  of  love ; 

Sir,  we  would  see  him — for  his  heart, 
Attunes  itself  to  heaven  above. 

Thus,  Saviour,  when  Thy  courts  we  tread, 
'Tis  only  Thee  we  long  to  view, 

Thee  in  the  sacramental  grace, 
Thee  in  the  blest  baptismal  dew ; 

Thee  in  the  read  and  spoken  word, 
Thee  in  the  Church's  ancient  hymn : 

Thee  would  we  see,  our  risen  Lord, 
Now  throned  above  the  Seraphim. 

And,  oh,  when  faith  is  merged  in  sight, 
And  death's  mysterious  shadows  flee, 

Thee  first  in  that  unfading  world, 
The  just  made  perfect  long  to  see. 


THE     GREEKS    AT     THE     FEAST.  83 

The  rainbow  round  the  throne  grows  dim, 

The  pearly  gates  attract  no  more, 
For  heart  and  eye  with  Christ  are  filled, 

And  Faith  can  have  no  richer  store. 


FAINT,    YET    PURSUING. 


AN    APOSTROPHE    TO    THE    CHURCH. 

Church  of  the  living  God. 

Awake  the  victor  song, 
A  toilsome  path  thou  long  hast  trod. 

And  yet  must  march  along ; 
Thy  Banner  to  Creation  fling, 
And  take  possession  for  thy  King. 

Thy  field  is  now  the  World, 

What  noble  field  of  strife, 
And  Satan  from  his  throne  is  hurled. 

If  thou  but  wak'st  to  life ; 
Strike  home  for  Jesus  and  his  word, 
And  give  the  Kingdoms  to  thy  Lord. 

What  noble  sons  were  thine, 
When  dauntless  souls  like  Paul, 

The  strength  of  heart  and  arm  combined, 
And  gave  to  Christ  their  all ; 


FAINT,     YET     PURSUING.  85 

Then  Islands  in  the  southern  sea,, 

Then  northern  climes  in  Christ  were  free. 

Ah,  those  were  days  of  Faith, 

When  vengeance  marked  the  good, 

And  thorns  were  with  the  mitre  worn, 
And  Prelates  pour'd  their  blood ; 

That  ay  arm  libation,  rich  and  free, 

Was  shed  by  giant  hearts  for  Thee. 

Give  thee  but  souls  like  these, 

With  daring  in  their  eye, 
And  out  upon  the  distant  breeze, 

The  Banner's  folds  shall  fly; 
And  mountain-top  and  heaving  sea, 
Shall  wake  unwonted  melody. 

Church  of  the  living  God, 

The  Earth  is  grossly  dark, 
But  Bel  must  bow  and  Nebo  stoop, 

Before  the  Mystic  ark : 
On  to  the  noble  rescue,  on, 
Sword  of  the  Lord  and  Gideon. 


86  FAINT,     YET     PURSUING. 

Church  of  the  living  God. 

In  trustfulness  move  on, 
And  spread  the  seed  of  Truth  abroad, 

Till  all  shall  kiss  the  Son  ; 
Then  bursts  on  Earth  a  cloudless  day, 
Then  kindles  Glory's  lasting  ray. 


CONTRITION. 

Father,  Thou  knowest  how  weak  the  endeavor. 
To  break  from  the  thraldom  of  passion  and  sin ; 
Father,  Thou  knowest  how  hard  'tis  to  sever, 
The  chain  of  corruption  that  binds  us  within. 

Lured  from  our  duty  by  voices  of  pleasure, 
Drawn  from  Thy  bosom  by  earth  and  its  toys, 
Heeding  but  little  the  soul  and  its  treasure, 
"Wasting  existence  in  profitless  joys. 

Father,  like  wanderers  have  we  been  roving, 
Turning  to  mortals  as  stays  of  the  soul. 
Ever  forgetting  thy  favor  so  loving. 
Ever  unminding  eternity's  goal. 

Weak  are  the  hearts  that,  with  pain  and  relenting. 
Turn  from  their  idols,  dear  Parent  Divine : 
Turn  from  their  folly  with  tears  and  repenting, 
Round  Thee  again  their  affections  to  twine. 


88  CONTRITION. 

Oh,  when  the  sunlight  was  dancing  around  us, 
Health  in  the  bosom  and  joy  in  the  gale, 
Then  in  that  moment  the  Syren  has  found  us, 
Willing,  too  willing,  to  list  to  her  tale  : 

Still  would  we  come  to  the  throne  and  the  altar, 
Pleading  Thy  promise  benignant  and  free, 
Still  would  these  lips  with  emotion  that  falter, 
Breathe  out  attachment,  dear  Jesus,  to  Thee. 

Take  the  poor  heart  as  it  comes  in  its  sorrow, 
Bind  up  the  wound  and  the  cordial  bestow, 
To-day  it  is  grieving,  but,  oh,  on  the  morrow, 
Let  gladness  and  sunshine  succeed  to  its  woe. 


THE  FLOATING  CHAPEL. 

"  The  abundance  of  the  sea  shall  be  converted  unto  thee." — Isaiah. 

Joy  to  thy  bosom,  thou  child  of  the  ocean, 

Bright  is  the  beacon  which  gleams  o'er  the  wave, 

He  who  has  stilled  the  wild  billow's  commotion, 
Hasteth  to  seek  thee — and  seeketh  to  save. 

Moved  by  a  sympathy  glowing  and  tender, 
Children  of  Jesus  would  raise  thee  from  woe, 

All  the  kind  offices  friendship  can  render, 
Hearts  of  compassion  would  gladly  bestow. 

Thine  it  shall  be  in  a  haven  to  linger, 

Where  the  blest  temple  invites  thee  to  come, 

Where  the  robed  Priest,  with  his  sky-pointing  finger. 
Bids  thee  press  on  to  thy  blood-purchased  home. 


90  THE    FLOATING     CHAPEL. 

Blending  thy  voice  with  the  jubilant  anthem, 
Bowing  thy  knee  when  confessions  arise, 

Wilt  thou  not  fit  thee  to  join  with  the  ransomed  ; 
In  the  blest  chorus  which  floats  through  the  skies  ? 

Thus  shalt  thou  vanquish  the  lures  of  Abaddon, 
Strong  in  the  faith  of  the  "Mighty  to  Save," 

Hopes  of  salvation  thy  spirit  will  gladden, 

When  the  stern  tempest  around  thee  shall  rave. 

Joy  to  thy  bosom — thou  child  of  the  billow, 

For  bright  is  the  beacon  which  gleams  o'er  the  wave. 

Though  rough  be  thy  lot,  and  hard  be  thy  pillow, 
Yet  Jesus  shall  seek  thee,  and  seek  thee  to  save. 


DAVID'S  LAMENT. 

"I  shall  go  to  Mm,  but  he  shall  not  return  to  me." 

Oh,  yes,  I  feel  I  shall  go  to  Him 
"When  my  heart  is  cold  and  my  eye  is  dim, 
And  the  soul  that  bows  in  its  grief  alone, 
On  a  Seraph's  wing  to  its  rest  has  flown. 

They  would  bring  the  harp  with  its  sounds  of  joy, 
To  drown  the  thought  of  my  sainted  boy, 
But  his  gentle  form  is  upon  my  brain, 
Though  I  list  as  erst  to  the  minstrel  strain. 

The  plant  has  gone  from  Judaea's  vine, 
As  around  its  trunk  it  began  to  twine  ; 
The  gem  is  dark  on  my  kingly  brow. 
And  the  dust  of  grief  is  upon  me  now. 


92  davib's   lament. 

How  deep  my  woe  for  the  babe  who  died, 
But  he  lingers  yet  by  his  parent's  side, 
For  with  morning's  gush  and  with  day's  decline, 
He  seems  to  come  to  this  heart  of  mine. 

But,  anguish 'd  spirit,  thy  murmurs  still, 
Thy  babe  has  gone  to  a  sunlit  hill, 
Life's  cup,  with  cares  to  its  utmost  brim, 
Death's  shadowy  angel  has  turn'd  from  him. 

He  cannot  come  from  his  deep  repose, 
To  check  the  tear  which  unbidden  flows, 
He  cannot  come  with  his  soft,  blue  eye, 
Nor  his  voice  of  entrancing  melody. 

But,  oh,  I  know  I  shall  go  to  Him, 
When  my  heart  is  cold  and  my  eye  is  dim, 
And  the  soul  that  bows  in  its  grief  alone, 
On  a  Seraph's  wing  to  its  rest  has  flown. 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRAYER. 


"  Give  me  the  Prayers  of  my  Mother,  the  Church ;  there  are  none 
like  hers." 


Thy  heart  is  sad — corroding  care, 

Hath  wrought  its  sternest  workings  there, 

As  songs  that  die  along  the  shore, 

Thy  brightest  joys  are  now  no  more  ; 

Yet,  stricken  one,  retire  awhile, 

From  Earth's  dark  scenes  of  grief  and  guile, 

And  at  the  hour  when  sunlight's  glow, 

Is  fading  from  the  world  below, 

Then  bend  Devotion's  willing  knee, 

And  Peace,  sweet  Peace,  will  visit  thee. 

The  hour  of  Prayer — how  pure — how  calm, 
It  brings  the  Pilgrim  spirit-balm, 
The  balm  which  mollifies  his  woe, 
Arrests  the  tear-drop  in  its  flow, 
9 


94  THE    HOUR    OF    PRAYER. 

And  bends  above  the  battling  storm, 
The  Rainbow's  bright  and  lustrous  form  ; 
Hope  leaps  exulting  in  the  hour, 
When  sense  and  sin  forego  their  power, 
And  while  such  precious  moments  last, 
We  have,  of  Heaven,  the  antepast. 

Yes,  take  the  form  so  dear  of  old, 
In  which  thy  Father's  wants  were  told, 
The  hallow'd  words  which  martyrs  breath'd, 
The  legacy  which  Saints  bequeath'd, 
And  breathe  thy  longings  in  an  Ear, 
Which  stoops  thy  least  complaint  to  hear ; 
Thus,  at  the  hour  when  sunlight's  glow 
Is  fading  from  the  world  below, 
If  bow'd  upon  Devotion's  knee, 
Sweet  Peace  will  gently  visit  thee. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  AUTUMN  WIND. 

Did  you  hear  the  stern  wind  as  it  swept  through  the 
woodland, 

Whose  rich  leafy  treasures  it  scattered  afar  ? 
Then  listen — it  speaks  to  the  depths  of  the  spirit, 

And  freighted  with  music  the  syllables  are. 

I  come  like  a  minstrel  the  notes  to  awaken, 
And  out  on  Creation  the  melody  fling : 

My  harp  how  majestic — the  solemn  old  forest, 
And  each  withered  tree  shall  afford  it  a  string. 

Gone — gone  are  the  flowerets — they  bloom' d  but  a 
season, 

Imparted  their  nectar  and  vanish'd  away, 
Like  Earth-joys  which  ravish  the  heart  of  the  dreamer, 

The  morrow  entombing  the  bliss  of  to-day. 


96  SONG     OF    THE     AUTUMN     WIND. 

No  green  on  the  leaf — it  is  shrivell'd  and  dusky, 
Unheeded  it  floats  on  the  face  of  the  stream, 

A  type  of  the  sad  one  who  buffets  the  tempest, 
When  anguish  succeeds  to  his  halcyon  dream. 

Since  last  I  awakened  the  Song  of  the  Forest 

How  riches  have  flown,  and  how  friends  have  be- 
tray'd, 
How  Faith  has  grown  cold,  and  how  vows  have  been 
broken, 
How  Vice  has  entangled,  and  Virtue  decay' d. 

New  graves  have  been  hallow'd,  and  tears  have  enrich'd 
them, 
Such  tears  as  must  issue  unbribed  from  the  eye, 
When  they  who  have  twined  like  the  tendrils  around 
us, 
Have  turn'd  from  the  hearth-stone  to  sicken  and 
die. 

Yet   Pilgrim — look   up — though   the   Autumn   hath 
dirges, 

Spring  beckons  thee  onward — Elysian  Spring, 
Where  mortals  put  on  the  bright  crown  of  the  perfect, 

And  tune  to  the  notes  of  Redemption  the  string. 


SONG    OF    THE    AUTUMN     WIND.  97 

If  thy  heart  have  the  precepts  of  Jesus  in  keeping, 
And  Faith  in  the  Saviour  is  making  thee  strong, 

Thy  dear  ones — now  round  thee  so  tranquilly  sleep- 
ing* 
Shall  mingle  with  thee  in  the  Conqueror's  Song. 


THE  PRAYER  BOOK  FOR  THE  BLIND. 


The  eyes  of  the  blind  shall  see  out  of  obscurity,  and  out  of 
darkness." — Isaiah  xxix.  18. 


They  are  shut  from  the  sight  of  sun  and  flower, 
Of  streamlet  blue  and  of  jasmine  bower, 
And  the  spirit's  workings  they  may  not  trace, 
In  a  Father's  eye  and  a  Mother's  face. 

In  vain  is  Nature  with  beauty  fraught, 
Their  only  world  is  the  cell  of  thought, 
The  upland  green  and  the  golden  sky, 
Are  things  of  nought  to  the  sightless  eye. 

Then  say,  can  we  take  from  their  pining  heart, 
The  burden — of  life  itself  a  part  ? 
Can  we  bid  a  star  on  their  pathway  shine, 
With  an  influence  blest  and  a  ray  divine  ? 


THE    PRAYER    BOOK     FOR    THE    BLIND.      99 

Oh,  yes,  the  Church  hath  a  soothing  balm, 
In  Collect  sweet,  and  in  glowing  Psalm, 
May  she  spread  her  store  on  the  magic  page, 
And  give  to  the  Blind  their  heritage : 

In  her  Master's  soft  and  enticing  tones, 

May  she  speak  to  the  heart  of  those  stricken  ones, 

And  bid  a  fount  in  the  desert  spring, 

A  Rose  on  the  wild  its  odor  fling. 

Oh,  then,  when  thoughts  of  their  cheerless  fate, 
Would  render  them  more  than  desolate, 
The  prompter  of  joy — the  relief  of  care, 
Will  prove  that  volume  of  Common  Prayer. 


CHRISTIAN  SYMPATHY. 

"Weep  with  them  that  weep." — Romans,  xii.  15. 

Yes,  weep  with  them  that  weep, 

Who  bend  in  speechless  sorrow ; 
Where  lies  in  dreamless  sleep, 

The  breast  that  knows  no  morrow ; 
Thou  too  must  wail  the  dead, 

And  have  thy  heart-links  broken, 
Thy  tear-drops  must  be  shed, 

Though  grief  be  all  unspoken. 
Then  let  thy  soul  go  forth, 

In  true  and  kindly  feeling, 
A  single  word  has  worth, 

That  word  thy  love  revealing. 
The  whispered  word  of  God, 

The  hand's  own  friendly  pressure, 
To  him  who  feels  the  Rod, 

Is  more  than  India's  treasure. 


CHRISTIAN     SYMPATHY.  10  L 

As  sunbeams  seek  the  wave, 


And  dews  the  smiling  blossom, 
Thus  "balm  and  oil"  will  crave, 

Thy  brother's  aching  bosom  ; 
In  Wealth  thou  may'st  be  poor, 

And  have  no  gift  to  offer, 
Be  Feeling  then  thine  ore, 

And  Sympathy  thy  coffer ; 
Thus  when  thy  heart  is  crushed, 

Thy  ties  by  Death  all  riven, 
Thy  sorrows  shall  be  hushed, 

With  pictured  joys  of  Heaven. 


"THE  LORD  WILL  COMFORT  ZION." 
The  Lord  will  comfort  Zion, 


When  the  tear  bedims  her  eye, 
And  her  faintest  note  of  sighing, 
Will  His  ear  receive  on  high. 

The  Lord  will  comfort  Zion, 
And  the  desert  place  will  sing, 
While  the  rose  and  lily  vieing, 
To  the  breath  of  morn  shall  spring 

For  Judah  will  He  gather, 
From  the  distant  ocean-isle, 
And  Israel  own  him  Father, 
And  rejoice  beneath  His  smile. 

Jerusalem  no  longer, 
Shall  by  heathen  feet  be  trod, 
For  woe  to  those  who  wrong  her 
The  chosen  Bride  of  God. 


THE    LORD    WILL    COMFORT     ZION."      103 

Each  hidden  type  of  Moses, 
Shall  shadow  forth  the  Sou, 
When  their  day  of  darkness  closes, 
When  their  morning  is  begun. 

On  Tabor's  green-clad  mountain, 
Shall  the  Saviour's  cross  be  seen, 
And  by  cool  Siloam's  fountain, 
They  shall  praise  the  Nazarene. 

Like  doves  to  windows  flying, 
In  a  shining  cloud  they  come, 
For  the  Lord  will  comfort  Zion, 
And  will  shout  his  harvest  home. 


JACOB'S   WISH. 


"  There,  they  buried  Abraham  and  Sarah  his  wife,  there  they  buried 
Isaac  and  Rebekah  his  wife,  and  there  I  buried  Leah." — Genesis. 


In  Mamre's  shady  field  of  green, 

Within  the  land  I  love  so  well, 
Machpelah's  spacious  cave  is  seen, 

And  there  my  slumbering  kindred  dwell. 

The  Cedars  with  the  giant  bough, 
When  vesper  gales  their  foliage  stir, 

Wave  with  a  mournful  cadence  now, 
Around  that  ancient  sepulchre. 

I  would  not  rest  in  Egypt's  vale, 
But  press  in  death  a  sacred  sod, 

Where  seraph  wings  have  stirr'd  the  gale, 
Where  Canaan's  hills  have  seen  their  God, 


jaoob's   wish.  105 

Where  Jordan  laves  the  flowery  plain, 
And  Tabor's  summit  greets  the  sky, 

Oh,  thither,  born  in  death  again, 
My  children,  let  your  father  lie. 

There,  Abraham  and  Sarah  sleep, 

There,  Isaac  and  Rebekah  rest, 
There,  angels  Leah's  ashes  keep, 

Her  spirit  mingling  with  the  blest. 

Within  that  quiet  nook  of  earth, 
Dear  to  my  heart  in  sun  or  storm, 

The  land  that  gave  my  loved  ones  birth, 
Oh,  lay  in  death  my  lifeless  form. 

Their  parent's  latest  wish  was  heard, 
They  bore  him  to  his  cherish' d  grave, 

And  there,  where  forest  leaves  were  stirr'd. 
Old  Jacob  prest  Machpelah's  cave. 


10 


ANNIVERSARY  HYMNS. 


MESSIAH'S  PROGRESS. 

Hark,  His  chariot  wheels  are  rolling, 
Rolling  onward  in  their  might, 

All  the  rage  of  hell  controlling, 
Jesus  scatters  death  and  night. 

Speed  ye  heralds — sound  His  story, 
Daunted  not  by  pain  or  loss, 

Offer  grace — and  point  to  glory, 
Each  the  purchase  of  the  Cross. 

Sec — it  falls — each  Idol  Dagon, 
Prostrate  at  Jehovah's  shrine, 

And  the  poor  benighted  Pagan, 
Feel  and  own  the  conquest  thine. 

Powers  of  darkness — boast  no  longer, 
Captive  souls  are  doubly  free, 

Ye  were  strong — but  Jesus  stronger, 
His  is  now  the  victory. 
10* 


110  Messiah's  progress, 

Haste  the  clay,  when  rivers  gushing, 
In  the  deserts  spring  to  birth, 

And  our  Lord,  the  Tempter  crushing, 
Makes  an  Eden  of  the  earth. 


CHILDHOOD'S  LAY. 

AYiiile  others  sing  thy  praise, 

And  tell  of  mercies  given, 
An  infant  band  would  raise, 
Their  little  hymn  to  Heaven  : 
Thou  wilt  receive  us,  gracious  King, 
Though  stammering  lips  are  all  we  bring. 

Thy  temple  gates  we  love, 

We  love  our  pastor  dear, 
Oh,  never  would  we  rove, 
But  seek  instruction  here : 
Till  age  has  silver 'd  o'er  our  head, 
Lord,  give  us  evermore  this  bread. 

Oh,  bless  our  Teacher  kind, 

Who  labors  for  our  good, 
Her  lessons  may  we  mind, 

And  profit  as  we  should, 


112  childhood's   lay. 

Try  to  remember  what  we  hear, 
And  always  feel  that  God  is  near. 

Dear  Maker,  change  our  hearts, 

Through  Jesus  Christ  thy  Son, 
Well  may  we  act  our  parts, 
Till  all  our  work  is  done  : 
Then  may  we  gain,  through  heavenly  might. 
A  crown  of  gold — a  robe  of  light. 


CLAIMS  OF  HEATHENDOM, 

Wake,  wake,  a  joyous  measure, 

For  blessings  rich  and  free, 
The  Gospel — priceless  treasure, 

Has  come,  oh  God,  from  Thee ; 
Golconda's  gems,  though  shining, 

Are  not  like  means  of  grace, 
Where  hope  and  fear  combining, 

Would  bid  us  seek  thy  face. 

But  look  far  off  in  sadness, 

The  Pagan  bows  in  dust, 
He  wakes  no  lay  of  gladness, 

No  God  has  he  to  trust ; 
His  dusky  children  linger, 

Beneath  the  spreading  Palm, 
But  who  with  pointing  finger, 

Directs  them  to  the  Lamb  ? 


114  CLAIMS     OF     HEATHENDOM. 

Rouse,  Christians,  rouse  to  duty, 

The  living  God  proclaim, 
Till,  clothed  in  robes  of  beauty, 

The  world  repeats  his  name  ; 
Disclose  the  healing  fountain, 

Salvation's  blessed  prize, 
Till  floats  o'er  vale  and  mountain, 

The  standard  of  the  skies. 


MORAL  NIGHT. 

Father,  earth  has  habitations, 

"Where  thy  name  was  never  known, 
Where  the  sin-benighted  nations, 

"Worship  gods  of  senseless  stone. 
There,  the  poor  deluded  mother, 

In  the  Ganges  casts  her  child, 
There  the  widow's  cries  they  smother, 

On  the  dreadful  funeral  pile 

Dying  heathen,  shall  you  perish  ? 

Shall  you  sink  to  endless  woe  ? 
While  the  hope  of  heaven  we  cherish, 

From  the  kingdom  must  you  go  ? 
No — the  star  that  has  arisen, 

On  our  dark  and  sinful  earth, 
Soon  shall  bless  your  longing  vision, 

Soon  shall  speak  a  Saviour's  birth. 


116  MORAL     NIGHT. 

No — the  Gospel,  we  will  send  it 

With  its  offers  rich  and  free, 
Oh,  may  power  divine  attend  it, 

Till  to  Christ  you  bow  the  knee. 
Father,  speed  Redemption's  story, 

Through  creation's  wide  domain. 
Till  the  earth  is  filled  with  glory, 

And  our  Jesus  comes  to  reign. 


EARLY  PIETY. 

We  join  our  gladsome  voices, 

To  praise  our  heavenly  kins:. 
Each  youthful  heart  rejoices, 

Its  tribute  thus  to  bring : 
If  with  celestial  manna, 

Our  hungry  souls  are  fed. 
Well  may  we  sing  hosanna, 

To  Christ,  the  Church's  head 

While  life  is  in  its  blossom. 

And  we  are  free  from  care, 
Lord,  take  us  to  thy  bosom, 
And  fold  us  safely  there  ; 
As  we  in  age  are  growing, 

May  we  in  grace  increase. 
Till  every  heart  is  knowing. 
Religion's  holy  peace. 
11 


118  EARLY     PIETY. 

From  earth — that  magic  charmer, 

Release  us  by  Thy  might, 
And  may  we  keep  our  armor, 

For  Christian  warfare  bright. 
At  last  from  Death's  dominion, 

Redeemer,  set  us  free, 
That  so,  on  seraph  pinion, 

We  all  may  soar  to  thee. 


BETHLEHEM'S  STAR. 

TnE  star  that  lit  the  Magi's  road, 

With  its  enlivening  ray, 
Diffused  its  blessed  light  abroad, 

To  where  our  Jesus  lay. 

Oh,  guided  by  its  sacred  beam, 
May  Christ  by  us  be  sought, 

To  give  those  youthful  hearts  to  him, 
Which  His  own  blood  has  bought. 

No  incense  with  its  odor  sweet. 

No  costly  myrrh  have  we, 
No  gold  to  lavish  at  his  feet, 

Oblation  rich  and  free. 

But  with  our  knee  in  rev'rence  bent, 
And  tear-drops  in  our  (-'y^, 

Our  souls  and  bodies  we  present, 
A  living  sacrifice. 


120  B  K  T  U  L  K  II   K  M  '  8     STAR. 

Lord,  take  us,  children  as  a\c  are, 
Speak  all  our  sius  forgiven. 

And  may  the  bright  and  morning  stai 
Still  lead  us  on  to  Heaven. 

Oh,  let  thy  rod  and  staff  defend, 
Where'er  our  lot  be  cast, 

Thy  servants  till  our  life  shall  end. 
Thy  jewels  at  the  last. 


WORDS  OF  FAVOR. 

WHEN  around  the  lovely  Saviour, 

Infants  with  affection  prest, 
Breathing  out  his  words  of  favor, 

Every  sunny  brow  he  blest; 
Though  the  stern  disciples  chid  them, 

Babes  and  sucklings  thus  to  come, 
Jesus  cried,  do  not  forbid  them, 

Such  compose  my  heavenly  home. 

Here  within  thy  chosen  dwelling, 

Where  thy  cloud  of  glory  stays. 
All  thy  loving-kindness  telling, 

Children  would  attempt  thy  praise ; 
For  the  Gospel  thou  hast  sent  us, 

Grateful  tribute  would  we  give, 
For  the  teachers  thou  hast  lent  as, 

Would  we  bless  thee  while  we  live; 
11* 


122  WORDS    OF    FAVOR. 

When  our  earthly  praise  has  ended. 

On  seraphic  pinion  borne, 
By  the  bright-winged  band  attended. 

May  Ave  rise  to  heavenly  morn  : 
Gathering  then  around  thy  altar. 

Pupils,  teachers,  all  above, 
Lord  with  lips  that  may  not  falter. 

Each  shall  sing  redeeming  love. 


SEND  OUT  THY  LIGHT. 

In  heathen  lands  afar, 

In  islands  of  the  sea, 
How  many  souls  there  are, 

Who  hear  not,  Lord  of  thee, 
Who  worship  in  the  stock  and  stone. 
The  deity  they  have  not  known. 

Those  heathen  lands  afar, 

Where  countless  children  dwell, 

Unlit  by  Bethlehem's  star, 
Hear  not  the  Sabbath  bell : 

No  Church  with  spire  that  points  to  Heaven, 

Has  to  their  longing  eyes  been  given. 

Then  doubly  blest  are  we, 

The  lamp  of  life  to  own, 
The  Saviour's  day  to  see, 

And  worship  God  alone. 


124  SEND    OUT    T  II Y    LIGHT 

To  stand  in  meekness  by  thy  side, 
Oil,  Jesus  Christ,  the  crucified. 

Such  wond'rous  love  and  grace, 
Demands  our  grateful  praise, 

Oh,  may  we  seek  thy  face, 
And  serve  thee  all  our  days, 

Like  young  Josiah,  in  our  bloom, 

Prepare  for  death,  and  yonder  tomb. 

Send  out  thy  light  and  truth, 

From  Zion's  holy  hill, 
Till  every  pagan  youth, 

Shall  own  thy  sov'reign  will, 
Till  idols  to  the  bats  are  thrown, 
And  all  the  kingdoms  are  thine  own. 


HOUR  OF  PARTING. 

Now  has  come  the  botur  of  parting, 

And  we  each  must  seek  our  home. 
May  the  message  of  our  pastor. 
Often  to  our  memory  come. 

Bless  the  teachers  who  would  guide  us, 
Dearest  friends,  our  love  they  claim. 
May  we,  till  our  days  are  ending. 
Fan  for  them  affection's  flame. 

Spare  our  pastor — may  thy  message. 
Long  bis  time  and  thoughts  engage, 
And  may  we,  emerged  from  childhood. 
Rise  to  bless  him  in  his  age. 

As  our  fathers  pass  to  Heaven, 

May  we  rise  their  place  to  fill. 
And  the  scholars  in  thy  presence. 
Prove  a  race  t<»  serve  thee  still. 


126  HOUR     O  F     PAR  TIN  G. 

Long,  oh  long,  may  grateful  praises, 
Echo  through  these  aisles  we  tread  ; 
Long,  oh  long,  the  dews  of  mercy, 
On  thy  vineyard  here  be  shed. 

And  at  last  before  thy  presence, 
May  we  stand  in  garments  bright, 
Where  no  sun  or  moon  are  needed, 
But  the  Lamb  shall  be  the  light. 


THE  BUDDING  FLOWER. 

Wl  arc  children  very  small, 
But  we  love  on  God  to  call, 
And  we  know  the  lambs  he  will 
Carry  in  his  bosom  still. 

He  who  loves  the  budding  flower. 
Calls  us  in  our  morning  hour, 
He  who  bids  us  seek  his  face, 
Fills  that  morning  hour  with  grace. 

Israel  gave  to  God  of  old, 
All  the  firstlings  of  his  fold, 
And  the  fruits  that  earliest  came. 
Were  devoted  just  the  same. 

So  we  give,  dear  Lord,  to  thee, 
Each  our  earliest  infancy; 
Better  gift  than  oil  or  wine, 
Saviour,  make  the  offering  thine. 


128  THE     BUDDING     FLOWER 

As  our  years  arc  gliding  by, 
Fit  us,  Jesus,  for  the  sky, 
Shield  thy  little  ones  from  ill, 
Be  our  kind  protector  still. 

Dear  Redeemer,  when  at  last, 
Jordan's  billows  shall  be  past, 
Safe  upon  the  farther  shore, 
May  we  land,  to  sin  no  more. 


THE  SUN   OF   RIGHTEOUSNESS. 

The  sun  is  shedding  golden  beams, 
The  waiting  earth  to  bless, 
But  sweeter  o'er  our  spirit  streams, 
The  Sun  of  Righteousness. 

The  incense  of  the  flowery  host, 
Is  stealing  upward  free, 
But,  Lord,  the  altar  of  our  hearts, 
Breathes  fragrance  out  to  thee. 

In  grove  and  woodland  warblers  sing, 
In  many  a  varied  tone, 
But  oh,  the  tribute  children  bring, 
More  welcome  meets  the  throne. 

Majestic,  Lord,  is  Nature's  shrine, 
The  footstool  of  its  God, 
But  more  august  this  House  of  thine, 
By  erring  mortals  trod. 
12 


130  THE    SUN    OF    RIGHTEOUSNESS. 

Then  gather,  with  a  heart  of  joy, 
And  tread  the  well-known  aisle, 
The  praise  of  God,  our  loved  employ, 
Our  recompense,  his  smile. 

Then  gather,  children,  to  his  throne, 
And  He,  the  heavenly  Dove, 
Will,  as  your  prayer  he  deigns  to  own, 
O'ershadow  you  with  love. 


THE  SABBATH  HOUR. 

The  Sabbath  hour  I  dearly  love, 

For  joy  to  me  it  brings, 
When  soaring  to  my  God  above, 

Upon  devotion's  wings  ; 
The  Sabbath  school,  how  sweet  the  spot, 

Where  classmates  warmly  meet, 
What  stores  of  wisdom  have  I  got, 

To  guide  my  wandering  feet. 

The  Teacher,  with  his  welcome  smile, 

I  long  to  hail  him  there, 
And  linger  thus  a  little  while, 

In  common  praise  and  prayer  ; 
My  Pastor,  too,  my  truest  friend, 

The  shepherd  of  the  sheep, 
I'll  pray  whene'er  my  knee  I  bend, 

That  I  rod  his  life  may  keep. 


132  THE     SABBATH    HOUR. 

The  church,  its  anthem  peal  I  love, 

Its  sweet  united  prayer, 
From  out  its  fold  I  would  not  rove, 

But  pass  existence  there  : 
Like  Samuel,  let  me  serve  the  Lord ; 

Within  the  temple's  walls, 
And  list,  obedient  to  his  word, 

Whene'er  my  Master  calls. 


DEVOTION. 

The  Sabbath  dawn  is  sweet, 
Its  hours  we  welcome  in, 
When  we  our  Teachers  meet, 
And  try  God's  smile  to  win  : 
We  would  detain  its  moments  long, 
And  feel  that  they  to  God  belong. 

Before  the  snares  of  sin, 

Entrap  our  steps  to  woe, 

We  would  at  once  begin, 

Thy  spirit's  power  to  know, 
Avoid  transgression's  downward  ways, 
And  give  to  thee  our  earliest  days. 

Bless,  Lord,  each  Teacher  kind, 
Who  here  thy  word  explains, 
May  we  their  precepts  mind, 
And  thus  reward  their  pains; 
12* 


134  DEVOTION. 

"In  wisdom  and  in  stature"  grow, 
Like  Jesus  when  he  dwelt  below. 

Our  Pastor,  Lord,  defend, 
That  still  from  Zion's  height, 
He  may  his  message  send, 
And  all  to  Christ  invite ; 
Prolong  his  useful  life,  and  bless 
The  flock  he  feeds,  with  righteousness 

As  years  still  glide  along, 
Oh,  bring  us  nearer  Thee  : 
May  we  through  Christ  be  strong, 
May  we  through  grace  be  free, 
Till  passing  upwards  to  the  sky, 
We  wake  unending  melody. 


A  GRATEFUL  TRIBUTE. 

Wb  little  children  sing, 

In  one  united  lay, 
Our  grateful  tribute  bring, 
To  praise  the  Lord  to-day ; 
The  Saviour  loves  to  hear  our  voice, 
And  bids  us  in  his  grace  rejoice. 

How  blest  that  we  were  born 
Upon  this  Christian  shore, 
Where,  on  each  Sabbath  morn, 
We  can  thy  name  adore — 
And  find  thy  word,  so  pure,  so  sweet, 
A  lantern  to  our  youthful  feet. 

Lord,  spare  our  pastor  dear, 
For  many  coming  days, 

Long  may  he  guide  us  here, 
In  wisdom's  pleasant  ways, 


136  A     <  1  a  A  T  1  P  U  L     TRIBUTE. 

Confirm  the  good — with  sinners  plead, 
And  all  thy  people  duly  feed. 

When  all  our  days  are  done, 

And  we  are  called  to  die, 
Accepted  through  thy  Son, 
May  we  ascend  on  high — 
And  there,  with  all  our  teachers  too, 
Repeat  the  song  forever  new. 


THE  ACCEPTED  HOUR. 

Wither  the  hallow'd  courts  of  God, 

A  youthful  band,  we  press, 
To  spread  thy  mercy  all  abroad, 

And  all  thy  grace  express. 

( )  warm  our  inmost  souls  to-day, 

With  pure  celestial  fire, 
And  may  we  thy  commands  obey, 

And  still  to  thee  aspire. 

We  long  to  teach  thy  ways  to  all, 
Who  now  in  darkness  roam, 

0  may  they  hear  the  Gospel  call, 
And  seek  their  heavenly  home. 

Send  out  thy  truth,  with  saving  power, 

To  bless  our  fallen  race, 
And  in  this  bright,  accepted  hour, 

May  numbers  seek  thy  face. 


138  THE    ACCEPTED     HOUR. 

Let  the  sweet  Dayspring  from  on  high, 
Illume  each  heathen  shore, 

Till  all  shall  cast  their  idols  by, 
And  Zion's  Grod  adore. 

Then  shall  the  kingdoms  be  thine  own, 
Then  Satan  soon  shall  fall, 

Jesus,  our  King,  shall  reign  alone, 
And  Christ  be  all  in  all. 


A  DAY  OF  PRAYKlt. 

How  sweet  to  close  the  day  with  prayer, 
Which  was  with  prayer  begun  ; 

How  sweet  a  Saviour's  smile  to  share, 
With  every  setting  sun. 

What  mercies,  Lord,  our  cup  have  fill'd, 

Since  last  we  met  in  joy, 
What  lessons  Teachers  have  instill'd. 

Who  serve  in  thy  employ. 

Oh,  never  be  their  words  forgot, 

Which  breathe  of  God  and  Heaven, 

But  early  may  that  grace  be  sought, 
To  all  so  freely  given. 

Our  hearts  upon  thine  altar.  Lord, 
Devoutly  would  we  lay, 

And  may  we  wield  the  Spirit's  sword. 
Knell  sinful  lust   tO  slav. 


140  A     DAY     OF     PRAYER. 

For  only  they  who  bear  thy  yoke ! 

So  easy  and  so  light ; 
Shall  feel  unharm'd  Death's  cruel  stroke, 

And  wake  to  Heaven's  delight. 


THE  SAVIOUR'S  CAKE. 

While  Jesus  lived  on  earth, 
The  young  were  oft  his  care, 
For  all  of  human  birth, 
His  sympathy  could  share  ; 
A  smile  on  waiting  groups  he  shed, 
And  blest  in  turn  each  sunny  head. 

And  still,  with  kindling  eye, 
He  looks  on  pupils  here, 
Still  bending  from  the  sky, 
Their  bosoms  would  he  cheer. 
For  doubly  precious  does  he  prize, 
Life's  earliest,  purest  sacrifice. 

Then  let  us  round  his  throne, 
With  grateful  feelings  kneel, 
Christ  as  our  Master  own, 
And  every  want  reveal  : 
13 


142  the   saviour's   care. 

Implore  his  guidance  till,  in  death, 
We  praise  him  with  our  latest  breath. 

Lord,  save  us  by  thy  grace, 

And  wash  us  by  thy  blood  ; 

And  may  we  see  thy  face, 

Beyond  the  icy  flood, 
Until  at  last  our  feeble  hymn, 
Blends  with  the  songs  of  Seraphim. 


PRECIOUS  MOMENTS. 

Precious  moments  which  we  spend, 
While  we  in  thy  courts  attend : 
Earth  has  not  a  sunny  spot, 
Be  it  palace — be  it  cot, 
Equal  to  that  blest  retreat, 
Where  we  learn  at  Jesus'  feet. 

While  within  thy  temple  gate, 

We  thy  blessings  would  await, 

Raise  our  thoughts  to  heavenly  things, 

Bear  us  on  devotion's  wings, 

From  our  hearts  let  incense  rise, 

Passing  grateful  to  the  skies. 

When  our  Pastor  stands  to  tell, 
Gospel  truths  we  love  bo  well, 
On  our  hearts  and  mind-  impr< 
All  Ave  learn  of  righteousness. 


144  PRECIOUS     MOMENTS. 

Till  the  seed  a  harvest  bear, 
Crowning  all  thy  servants'  care. 

Saviour,  as  the  streams  that  run, 
Still  reflect  the  shining  sun, 
So  would  we  reflect  each  grace, 
Beaming  in  Emmanuel's  face, 
Till  the  world  can  plainly  see, 
We  have  all  been  taught  of  thee. 


HOW  BRIEF  IS  LIFE. 

Lord,  as  the  seasons  onward  roll, 
Teach  us  to  feel  how  brief  is  life : 
Youth,  manhood,  age,  all  pass  away, 
And  Death's  own  calm  succeeds  the  strife. 

We  meet,  and  part !  how  fleet  the  hour, 
It  goes  like  shadow  o'er  the  plain  ; 
We  feel  a  throb  of  heartfelt  joy, 
And  then  we  realize  the  pain. 

But  yonder  is  a  changeless  clime, 
And  yonder  is  a  fadeless  spring, 
Unending  is  the  worship  there, 
Unending  is  the  song  they  sing. 

And  may  we  not  assemble  there, 
And  never  more  again  dismiss? 
While  Pastor,  Teachers,  Children,  all, 
Soar  upward,  onward,  into  bliss. 
13* 


146  HOW    BRIEF    IS     LIFE. 

Yes,  Father,  yes,  how  sweet  the  thought ! 
Oh,  may  we  fill  those  courts  above  ; 
And,  as  one  blessed  band,  enjoy 
A  whole  eternity  of  love. 


SPRING-TIME. 

Saviour  of  a  fallen  race, 
Early  would  we  seek  thy  face ; 
In  the  spring-time  of  our  life, 
Free  from  anxious  care  and  strife, 
Would  we  thy  commands  fulfill, 
And  obey  thy  sovereign  will. 

While  our  feet  from  earth  we  turn, 
And  thy  sacred  precepts  learn, 
"While  with  steadfast  heart  we  try, 
Sense  and  sin  to  crucify, 
Saviour  of  a  guilty  race, 
Help  us  from  thy  dwelling-place. 

May  we,  till  the  field  is  won, 
Keep  our  shining  armour  on — 
Then  in  faith  rejoicing  rise, 
To  our  Saviour  in  the  skies. 
There  to  hear  the  rapturous  word, 
"Welcome,  blessed  of  the  Lord.'* 


THE  BRIGHT  COMMISSION. 
Ere  our  blessed  Lord  ascended, 


To  the  realms  of  light  and  joy; 

Ere  by  seraph  bands  attended, 

He  had  passed  to  Heaven's  employ; 

What  a  glad,  a  bright  commission, 
All  His  loved  disciples  bore, 
Grace  to  men  of  all  conditions, 
Mercy  to  the  farthest  shore. 

How  they  preached  that  great  salvation, 
Fearless  of  the  sword  and  flame, 
Till  the  Jew  and  Gentile  nation, 
Heard  that  One  availing  name  ! 

<  others  now  with  armor  girded, 
Sound  those  trumpet  notes  of  love, 

Till  each  distant  isle  lias  heard  it, 
And  each  mountain  height  above. 


THE    BBIOHI    COMMISSION.  140 

Saviour,  speed  the  work  with  blessing, 
Bid  the  day-spring  gild  the  skies, 
Till  the  World,  thy  grace  possessing, 
From  its  moral  bondage  rise. 

Then,  each  idol  shrine  forsaken, 
Father,  all  shall  worship  Thee ; 
And  this  earth  its  song  awaken, 
"Christ,  our  King,  has  made  us  free." 


WISDOM'S  VOICE. 

With  hearts  of  gladness,  Lord,  we  come, 
The  tribute  of  our  praise  to  bring, 
Oh,  let  thy  temple  prove  our  home, 
And  deign  to  list  the  lay  we  sing. 

The  voice  of  wisdom  have  we  heard, 
Directing  youthful  souls  to  thee  ; 
Oh,  may  we  all  obey  thy  word, 
And  to  thy  ark  for  shelter  flee. 

Bless  him  who  with  a  Pastor's  love, 
Would  feed  thy  lambs  with  tender  care, 
May  he  be  strengthened  from  above, 
And  all  thy  chosen  mercy  share. 

Let  grace  and  peace  attend  on  those, 
Who  weekly  point  us  to  the  skies, 

While  joys  which  but  the  Christian  knows 
Within  their  bosoms  hourly  rise. 


wisdom's    voice.  151 

Convert  the  slumbering  earth,  oh  God, 
Bring  thousands  to  the  Saviour's  side, 
Until,  wherever  earth  is  trod, 
They  own  and  bless  the  Crucified. 

Haste — haste  the  time — when  Satan's  power, 
Shall  vex  thy  creature  man  no  more ; 
Bring  near  the  blest,  auspicious  hour, 
When  all  shall  thee,  their  God,  adore. 

And  when  our  season  brief  is  past, 
And  we  have  laid  our  armor  down. 
May  we  receive  through  grace  at  last, 
A  robe  of  light — a  starry  crown 


THE  SWELLING  CHORUS. 

Come,  come  join  in  our  measures, 
Swell,  swell  anthems  of  praise, 
Earth,  earth  knows  not  our  pleasures, 
While  such  ascriptions  we  raise. 
Sing,  sing,  sing,  sing, 
Sing  in  a  chorus  of  joy. 

Bring,  bring  hearts  to  the  altar, 

Sweet,  pure,  bright  in  their  bloom, 
Vow,  vow  never  to  falter, 

Till  you  descend  to  the  tomb. 
Firm,  firm,  firm,  firm, 
Tread  in  the  path  of  the  just. 

Bless,  Lord,  all  our  instructors, 

Still,  still  favor  our  youth ; 
Long,  long  may  our  conductors, 
Teach  from  the  volume  of  Truth. 
Sparc,  spare,  spare,  Bpare, 
Those  who  would  point  us  to  God. 


T  II  |    s  w  I  L  I-  l  N  Q     C  B  0  B  i  15 •"- 

Smile,  Lord,  smile  on  thy  Servant. 

Still,  still  guard  and  defend; 
Here,  hen1  longings  how  fervent. 
Would  for  his  welfare  ascend. 
Poht,  pour,  pour,  pour. 
Blessings  on  shepherd  and  fold. 

When,  when  earth  shall  have  vanished, 

Up,  up,  glad  may  we  soar  ; 
Death,  sin,  sorrow  be  banished, 
While  our  hosannahs  we  pour, 
Loud,  loud,  loud,  loud, 
In  the  bright  temple  on  high. 


14 


MISCELLANEOUS    PIECES. 


THE  FUNERAL. 

The  day  was  dark  and  dreary,  when  we  placed  thee 

in  the  tomb, 
And   our   hearts  with   grief  were   weary,  amid   the 

tempest's  gloom, 
And  we  thought  the  ray  of  gladness,  the  light  and 

sunny  beam, 
Should  o'er  thy  open  sepulchre,  with  cheering  radiance 

stream, 
For  thou,  in  Spring's  first  blossom  had  meekly  passed 

away, 
And  closed  in  beauty  on  the  earth,   thy  brief,  thy 

mortal  day, 
But  while  the  snow  was  falling  upon  thy  coffin'd  breast, 
Our  hearts  grew  warm,  recalling  thy  better  place   of 

rest. 


TnE     FUNERAL  155 

No  winter  now  is  thine  above,  in  yonder  world  of  joy, 
Where  sunshine  beams  around  thee,  and  bliss  without 

alloy ; 
Thine  is  a  year  of  fadeless  flowers,  a  year  of  endless 

spring, 
And  fragrance,  not  of  earth,  those  flowers  around  thy 

pathway  fling: 
Ours,  ours  it  is  to  have  a  storm  of  care,  and  pain,  and 

wo, 
Which  ransomed  spirits  in  the  sky,  can  never,  never 

know. 
Then  weep  not  for  the  sleeper,  who  so  early  passed 

away, 
While  beautiful  the  prospect,  and  when  cloudless  was 

the  ray, 
But  weep  for  those  who  linger,  in  a  bitter  vale  of 

tears, 
While  fate's  mysterious  finger  portrays  not  coming 

years ; 
But  for  the  dear  departed,  the  beautiful,  the  young, 
The  good,  the  noble-hearted,  oh,  be  no  requiem  sung. 


THE  BIRTH-DAY  OF  WASHINGTON. 

Columbia,  take  thy  tuneful  harp  again, 
And  wake  in  rapture  thine  accustomed  strain. 
The  numbers  rise  and  swell  in  grandeur  on. 
For  oh,  the  kindling  theme  is  Washington  ! 
First  of  the  brave !  he  stemmed  oppression's  tide, 
And  toiling  for  his  country,  lived  and  died, 
Bade  the  red  banner  float  above  the  plain. 
And  then  resumed  a  life  of  peace  again ; 
Ruled  o'er  a  nation  with  paternal  sway. 
While  each  fond  heart  was  joyous  to  obey ; 
Left  his  sage  counsels  to  the  land  he  saved, 
Then  death's  grim  terrors,  as  a  Christian  braved, 
And  sank  from  sight  like  yonder  setting  sun, 
Immortal,  though  his  race  below  was  run — 
Bequeathed  a  character  without  a  stain, 
Which  even  scandal  tries  to  blot  in  vain. 
His  recompense,  a  shining  crowD  on  high, 
His  meed  below,  a  name  that  may  not  die. 


TiiK    BIRTH-DAT   of    Washington.        !.">, 

Praise  to  the  hero  of  the  Western  World! 
Colombia,  be  thy  flag  with  joy  unfurled, 

And,  as  thou  gazest  on  the  stripe  and  star, 
And  nearest  anthem-peals  resound  afar, 
Oh,  bless  that  father's  God,  who  saw  thy  woe, 
The  anguish  which  thy  heart  could  only  know, 
And  sent  thee  one  who  snapt  the  galling  chain, 
And  hade  thee  roam  unfettered  once  again — 
Yes,  pray  that  God,  thy  wall  of  fire  may  prove, 
And  keep  thee  still,  a  monument  of  love; 
Then,  to  thy  sons,  shall  bright  success  be  given, 
And  this  fair  land  be  owned  and  blest  by  heaven. 


145 


THE  SISTER'S  GIFT. 

At  the  capture  of  Chapultepec,  Lieut.  Jackson  received  a  ball  in  the 
breast,  which  struck  his  Bible  and  glanced  off,  leaving  him  unharmed. 
It  was  his  sister's  gift. 

Within  his  breast  the  gift  he  placed, 

That  guide  of  youth  and  age, 
A  gentle  sister's  name  was  traced 

Upon  its  blessed  page. 

On  to  the  strife  the  soldier  press' d; 

With  inmost  spirit  stirr'd, 
For  'mid  the  scenes  of  joy  and  rest, 

His  martial  vow  was  heard. 

The  rattling  hail  went  sweeping  by, 

Upon  a  field  of  gore, 
Stern  death  was  out,  careering  high, 

'Mid  havoc's  deafening  roar. 

The  youthful  hero  still  advanced, 

With  luart  of  Spartan  mould, 
The  standard  to  the  breeze  that  danced 

Had  made  liis  bosom  bold. 


T  B  I    BISTEB'fl    '.IF  T.  159 

A  booming  shot — a  bull  Bpeeda  on, 

Swift  messenger  of  death, 
It  strikes,  but  like  the  flash  'tis  gone, 

For  heaven  prolongs  the  breath. 

Like  bulwark  stern  that  book  of  God, 

Had  turn'd  the  shaft  aside, 
And  still  the  battle-plain  he  trod, 

And  brayed  the  scathing  tide. 

Oh  !  thus  when  waging  war  with  sin, 

When  daring  lusts  we  quell, 
Encased  God's  blessed  word  within, 

AW-  quench  the1  darts  of  hell. 


THE  POOR. 

When  snow-flakes  are  falling  on  palace  and  cot, 
And  tempest  blasts  sweep  o'er  the  moor, 

And  bleakness  is  found  in  each  beautiful  spot, 
In  mercy  remember  the  poor. 

They  come  in  the  garment  all  tatter'd  and  thin, 

And  pleadingly  stand  at  your  door, 
'Tis  gladness  and  warmth  and  abundance  within, 

But  these  are  denied  to  the  poor. 

The  orphan  is  out  with  his  shelterless  head, 

But  kindness  he  may  not  ensure, 
When  the  mother  who  cradled  him  sleeps  with  the  dead, 

He  feels  all  the  woes  of  the  poor. 

The  widow  bends  over  her  desolate  hearth, 

And  Iho  glories  of  heaven  allure, 
And  she  longs  to  be  freed  from  a  heart-chilling  earth, 

To  repose  in  the  grave  of  the  poor. 


aiLIEI         (>R     I  RE  LAN  D.  1<»1 

The  grey-headed  man  asks  a  refuge  abore. 

For  anguish  he  cannot  endure, 
No  breast  of  affection,  no  accents  of  loye3 

Remain  for  the  old  and  the  poor. 

Then  blest  be  the  heart,  and  thrice-sainted  the  name, 

Of  him  who  can  traverse  the  moor, 
To  cherish  and  comfort  regardless  of  fame, 

Those  children  of  Jesus — the  poor. 


RELIEF  FOR  IRELAND 

Yes,  send  her  out  to  plough  the  deep, 

With  noble  hearts  aboard. 
And  bid  her  shower  on  those  who  weep, 
Her  rich  and  priceless  hoard, 
Till  famished  multitudes  are  fed, 
And  bless  the  land  that  gave  them  bread. 

Yes,  send  her  out,  and  Mercy's  God 

Will  keep  her  treasured  store; 
The  Wave  will  calm  beneath  his  rod, 

The  tempest  cease  t<>  n>ar, 


162  THE    FIRESIDE. 

Till  wafted,  as  by  Seraph's  wing, 
She  safely  reach  the  perishing. 

Oh,  when  those  stars  and  stripes  of  Fame, 

O'ershadow  Erin's  sod, 
How  will  they  bless  a  nation's  name, 
Whose  land  they  ne'er  have  trod  : 

How  will  they  pray  that  Heaven  may  save, 
The  hearts  that  felt — the  hands  that  gave. 

Then  send  her  out  to  plough  the  deep, 

With  noble  hearts  aboard, 
And  bid  her  shower  on  those  who  weep, 
The  rich  and  priceless  hoard, 
Till  famished  multitudes  are  fed, 
And  bless  the  land  that  gave  them  bread* 


THE  FIRESIDE. 

Out  'mid  the  din  of  earth, 
And  the  jarring  notes  of  men, 

Where  commerce  rules  in  the  busy  man. 
And  wieldeth  her  wizard  pen. 


rHiriRBsiDi  1 1  >'■> 

'Tifl  a  dusty  road — but  our  joyous  tread 

Brings  music  out  we  ween  ; 
For  there — ah  there — how  it  gleams  ahead — 

The  light  of  the  hearth  is  seen. 

Out  'mid  the  sons  of  toil, 

Till  the  sunset  hour  is  near  : 
Our  heart  is  bold  and  our  nerve  is  strong, 

For  we  work  for  the  loved  and  dear. 
And  the  cottage  door  shall  be  open'd  wide, 

By  the  wife  and  child  we  ween  ; 
When  the  plane  and  hammer  are  laid  aside, 

And  the  light  of  the  hearth  is  seen. 

Our  fireside  bless'd — there's  a  spell 

Which  holds  our  spirits  there; 
And  how  like  the  chime  of  a  vesper  bell 

Goes  upward  the  evening  prayer. 
Earth  !  art  thou  not  but  a  sandy  wTaste, 

Witlmut  that  patch  of  green, 
Where  Love  sits  empress  of  every  heart, 

As  the  light  of  the  hearth  is  seen'.'' 


THE    NATIVITY. 

"Oh,  sing  unto  the  Lord  a  new  song." — David. 

New  was  the  song  that  burst  on  Judah's  plain, 
When  shepherd-bands  the  wakeful  vigil  kept, 

And  full  of  melody,  the  witching  strain, 

That  seraph-fingers  from  the  harp-string  swept ; 

For  oh,  it  told  the  reign  of  peace  on  earth, 

And  spoke  to  wondering  man,  Emmanuel's  birth. 

The  star,  foretold  in  dim  prophetic  days, 

Bursts  forth  at  length,  with  mild,  benignant  beam, 

Its  every  ray  a  Saviour's  love  displays — 
A  Saviour,  born  to  succor  and  redeem. 

Oh,  Bethlehem's  star,  by  thy  dear  guiding  blest, 

My  soul  shall  reach  the  haven  of  its  rest. 

Come,  see  the  place,  where  lay  a  helpless  child, 
The  Wonderful,  the  Counsellor,  the  King, 

And  though  thy  offering  be  with  sin  defiled, 
The  offering  of  a  contrite  spirit  bring, 


I  II  I     P10  1'  I-  I  '  S     I'KESS.  165 

Oblation  far  more  precious  in  his  rye. 
Than  Ophir's  gold,  or  Btones  of  ruby  dye, 

Enwreath  the  columns  of  the  house  of  prayer, 
With  verdant  blossomings  of  hill  and  dell, 

And  gathering  with  exulting  bosoms  there, 
Your  "  Gloria  in  e$celsis7"  loudly  swell. 

Then  gird  your  weapon  firmly  by  your  side. 

And  live,  and  die,  for  Jesus  and  the  bride. 


THE  PEOPLE'S  PKESS. 

Tin:  People's  Press, — what  thoughts  will  spring, 
In  naming  that  stupendous  thing: 
From  yonder  gulf  that  seeks  the  main. 
And  laves  the  southern  ilowery  plain. 
To  where  Umbagog's  wave  is  curled. 
Its  halo  -weeps  the  Western  World; — 
The  mansion  of  the  son  of  wealth, 
The  home  of  him  whose  boast  is  health. 
Must  e;ieh  with  equaljoy  conb 
How  cheering  is  that  magic  Press. 
15 


1^6  THE    PEOPLE'S     PRESS. 

Each  fact  it  gleams,  like  light  from  heaven, 

Forth  to  a  waiting  world  is  given  ; 

Each  burning  truth  that  decks  its  page, 

Becomes  the  heir-loom  of  the  age, 

To  keep,  far  down  the  track  of  time, 

Its  course  immortal,  and  sublime ; 

Each  paragraph  that  views  the  light, 

Is  with  undying  lustre  bright, 

And  breathes  and  burns  when  they  have  gone, 

Who  spake  it  first  in  living  tone. 

Oh,  guard  it  well,  that  People's  Press, 

And  bid  its  every  number  bless ; 

Let  Freedom,  Virtue,  God,  and  Truth, 

Be  kindling  themes  for  age  and  youth, 

And  with  one  foul,  immoral  blot, 

Oh,  stain  its  hallowed  pages  not. 

Next  to  the  sacred  desk  where  stands. 

The  Priest  who  pleads,  exhorts,  commands, 

The  noblest  station  we  can  find, 

Is  his  who  sways  the  public  mind, — 

Who  moulds  its  taste,  its  morals  frames, 

When  good  he  praises,  evil  blames, 

And  gilds,  upon  its  rainbow  span, 

"Good  will  and  peace,  henceforth,  to  man." 


THE  FALL  OF  HUNGARY. 

THEY  rallied — for  'twas  Freedom's  blast, 
Came  echoing  long,  and  loud,  and  fast, 

Stirring  each  nerve  to  might  : 
Dead  to  all  sounds  but  that,  they  rose, 
And  rained  destruction  on  their  foes, 

While  Hope's  sweet  star  grew  bright. 

But  sudden,  as  a  magic  spell, 

That  guiding  star  they  loved  so  well, 

Eclipsed  its  fostering  ray, 
And  the  warm  blood  that  high  could  mount 
Went  eddying  backward  to  its  fount, 

Chilled  in  its  bounding  way. 

Brave  hearts!  and  is  your  labor  o'er? 
And  must  they  over-run  your  shore, 

Those  myrmidons  <>l*  power? 
And  must  tney  gloat  upon  the  prize', 

While  ye  Behold  with  weeping  eyes, 
IJoiV  rnlturrs  can   </rr,,/rr  .' 


168  THE     FALL    OF     HUN  GARY. 

Courage  !  gigantic  souls !  though  dark, 
Freedom  reserves  a  latent  spark. 

Though  unobserved  it  lie ; 
And  when  the  shadows  heaviest  fall, 
Phosphoric  light  illumes  the  pall, 

And  kindles  up  the  sky. 

The  half-formed  wish  of  craven  men, 
May  start  impulsively — and  then, 

Go  nickering  out  at  last ; 
But  stern  resolve  is  Vulcan's  flame, 
Smothered — concealed — yet  still  the  same. 

And  waiting  for  the  blast. 

Go,  choke  the  sunbeams  as  they  glide, 
Go,  bind  with  chaff  old  Ocean's  tide, 

And  hope  success  to  meet ; 
But  stand  aloof,  when  comes  the  day, 
That  chains  from  Patriots  melt  away, 

And  Despots  kiss  their  fed. 


